Ink Warriors: Fellowship Of The Authors
by Velvet Nights and Satin Skies
Summary: The Fellowship has a bad case of the Mary Sues. Gandalf will do anything to get rid of it, even if it means dragging five of the best fanfiction writers from another dimension to cure them. Book 1: COMPLETE
1. Introduction

**A/N: Enjoy this book! I certainly enjoyed writing it!**

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><p><strong>Name: Daphne Anderson<strong>

**Age: 24**

**Location: Chicago, Illinois.**

"What? That ending _sucked_!"

The book was thrown unceremoniously across the room, pages fluttering in the unexpected flight, and landed with a loud whack as it struck the opposite wall. She sat up in bed, chocolate brown eyes glittering angrily as she looked at the orange book which was currently getting its pages ruined under the crushing weight of its own spine. She folded her arms and pouted, furrowing her brow as she sulked about the ending of her favorite series. Moodily, she got up and went to the mirror, still talking to herself. "She ended up with _Ron_? She's such an _idiot_! Can't she see how _shallow_ Ron is?" she snapped, running her fingers through her brutally short, spiked, bleached blonde hair. She scowled at herself in the mirror and went over to the book. Despite her now hate for a certain fictional ginger-haired wizard, she did like the series as a whole, and no book deserved to have dog-eared pages. Smoothing out the creases with her thumb, she slid it back into its space on her bookshelf and marched into the kitchen, still growling the odd obscenity over the sappy, sentimental, feel-good ending. She flung open the refrigerator and took out the milk gallon, cradling it in one hand as she vented her frustrations. "He's not even good looking! And they killed off the _one_, repeat, _one_ character that _wasn't_ a total Mary Sue! Agh! She's such an _idiot_! How can they just kill off Snape like that when he's actually _good_?"

She swigged the milk straight from the container, still scowling heavily. Capping the plastic jug, she shoved it into the refrigerator and marched back and forth in the kitchen, throwing up her hands every now and then to accentuate her displeasure over the ending of the final installment of her favorite series. A low hum of pain began building at the nape of her neck, and she knew that before long a migraine would have her puking her guts out and crying as she clutched her head on the sofa. Whenever she was angry over the ending of a book, she usually got a killer headache or a migraine. She could feel the traditional throb of a migraine growing, and she realized this one was going to be a doozy if she didn't stop shouting. With a low snarl, she opened the cabinet and rooted around for some aspirin. The tiny bottle fell to one side as her hands scrabbled blindly in the cabinet, and she snatched at it viciously, trying hard not to clench her jaw against the gathering pain and the injustice of the book ending. She dry-swallowed two aspirin and waited, leaning heavily on the sink as she looked out over her perfectly manicured lawn. There was one large dandelion taunting her smack dab in the middle of it that she would have to spray later, but right now she was still venting.

A wave of nausea passed over her and her already pale face blanched as she gagged. Dizziness washed over her like the crash of the sea, and she sank to her knees. Colors and textures were blurring together, blending and mixing. Dizzy spells were not uncommon for her during one of her theatrical migraines, but this one was spectacularly bad. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and the colors increased until she was looking at a sickening light show of whizzing neon colors and shapes, weird noises and alien sounds as her body twitched spasmodically. Briefly, her mind grappled for control and she wondered belatedly if she was going to pass out. Then everything went blessedly, velvety black and she sank to the floor, her head lolling to one side.

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><p><strong>Name: Madison Poole<strong>

**Age: 19**

**Location: Boston, Massachusetts.**

"Die, alien scum! Die, die, die!"

Her fingers tapped the keys rapidly as her jittery blue eyes bounced eagerly from one animated alien foe to the next. The computer beeped loudly, the background music speeding up as she passed onto the next level. She would have whooped and punched the air with both tiny fists, except she was too busy tackling a six foot tall purple alien with horns sticking out of his shoulders. "Hah, Master Gue, take that! Eat my slime grenade!" One hand darted out and captured a sweating glass of lemonade as she sucked eagerly at the straw, her eyes never leaving the screen as she manipulated the keyboard with one hand. Her frizzy blonde-brown hair, neatly divided into two thick pigtails in the back of her head, grew frizzier in the heat of the computer. Finally, there was an explosion of beeping and whistling, and fireworks boomed across the screen. She collapsed back into her swivel chair, beaming at herself for beating the final level for the third time that afternoon. "Oh yeah! I am _too good for words_!" she crowed, and mentally patted herself on the back. "Nobody beats me at _Attack Of The Slimy Aliens III_!"

She got up and strutted into the dining room, nearly tripping over one of the three cats which were always lounging around in inconvenient places. Her mother barely looked up from her bill paying as her daughter pranced into the room, beaming and pushing her glasses farther up her nose and looking extremely smug. For a moment, she debated over interrupting her mother to let her know that she was, without a doubt, the best person at computer games _ever_, then decided against it. Her mom would only get angry if she did. Instead, she flung open the cabinet an took out the jar of marshmallow fluff, then rummaged around in the silverware drawer for a spoon. Fluff straight out of the jar was best, and even better after kicking some major alien butt. She slurped at the gooey treat for a moment, latching onto the metal spoon until it was devoid of any white traces of sugar. "Don't spoil your dinner," her mother said automatically, tapping away at the calculator.

"Okay." she answered without putting up a fight. She managed to snatch one more spoonful of fluff before sliding the jar back into the shelf and going outside into the brisk October air, breathing in the crisp scents of autumn. She had never been much of an outdoorsy person, but six hours straight in front of a computer screen ignites a desire for fresh air like no other. But there was another scent too, something deeper and more acrid, stinging the inside of her nose and eyes. Smoke, perhaps? But it was making her head go fuzzy, and she stumbled for the porch railing. She was suddenly sick to her stomach. What was going on? She opened her mouth to call for her mother, her father, anyone, but a strangled grunt was all that came out. She toppled to her knees with a little squeak and passed out, multicolored waves spilling over her and slipping her into a balmy cocoon of darkness.

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><p><strong>Name: Michael Rodriguez <strong>

**Age: 21**

**Location: New York, New York**

"Just _one_, please?"

He tried his best _C'mon, man_ face on the pudgy shop owner, and was not surprised when the fat walrus of a man told him to beat it. "Fine, my man. But you're missing out on some A-class action right here." he said, then strutted to the door, his lanky frame moving smoothly as he paraded outside. Once he was out of sight of the shop, he dropped the swagger and turned up the collar of his leather jacket. This was a bad neighborhood, and if anyone caught sight of his swirling black dragon tattoo on the back of his neck, a gang would have him sliced, diced, and put on ice before you could say capeesh. Not that the tattoo meant he was part of a gang, or anything. It just looked cool. The ladies loves tattoos, or so he thought. He was God's gift to women everywhere. He shivered and nestled himself deeper into his scarred leather jacket. The stiff breeze had turned unexpectedly cold, and it was snapping an undetectable rose in his dark cheeks.

He pounded up the steps to his small apartment and flung open the cheap plywood door that had once been halfheartedly secured by a tinfoil lock. Now it was open to anyone and everyone who wanted to root through his meager belongings. Not that he really had anything of value. Even his old laptop only worked when it felt like it and would probably only hock up a few bucks at the local pawn shop. But he needed it, because he wrote. Not professionally, or anything; the kids on the street would die laughing if they knew their tough friend actually wrote for a living. Nah, he just like to _engage_ himself in writing. It was easy for him. But today he didn't feel like writing. Too much energy. Instead he went to the kitchen and took out a beer, tossing the can from each hand before he popped the lid and allowed the foam to splash over his hands. Absently licking the fizzy foam from his fingers, he sat on his battered recliner and opened the lid of his laptop. The warm beer was taking the edge off his nerves, and he felt his head buzzing slightly. Which was quite odd, in itself. Normally he didn't get a buzz until his third beer.

The buzzing increased, and the tips of his fingers began to get numb. He licked his dry lips and found his mouth was dry as cotton. The beer dropped from his numb hands, gurgling warm fizz over the rug as his head lolled back. The laptop crashed onto the floor in a tangle of wires as his legs began to twitch, and then everything went still as his eyes closed. Then he disintegrated, melting silently into the fabric of the air.

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><p><strong>Name: Melody Miller<strong>

**Age: 20**

**Location: Campbell County Correctional Facility**

The harsh klaxon buzz emitted from the small red alarm over the door rang out once, twice, three times, and the prisoners got to their feet with a groan. The orange jumpsuits mobbed together like fish in a shoal, and they began shuffling down the hallways to their respective rooms. The term _rooms_ had been slapped on their prison cells to make this place feel more permanent, less threatening. She snorted. A jail cell was a jail cell was a jail cell, in her opinion, and she had seen the interior of enough police stations, jails, cells, and offices to last any three people several lifetimes. The guard escorting them opened one of the doors and three prisoners were siphoned off. As the doors were opened, she threaded her way through the crowd and slipped inside her room, trying to avoid the eyes of Ashleigh, her roommate. She had fenced one of Ashleigh's multiple makeup kits and gotten $20 for it, a hefty price for some powder and mascara. Ashleigh had never forgiven her for it, and she was officially on the blonde's "angry list".

She flopped down on her bed and kicked one long leg in the air, the boredom already settling in. She hated solitary time. There was nothing to do; no innocent "firsties" (the term for first day inmates) to fleece, no hulking guard to bet on, nothing to do except sit here and wait until dinner was served. Officially, she was supposed to be reading one of the three thin books left behind by the last inmate, but she had better things to do. Planning her next chapter, for instance. For half an hour a day, the nonviolent prisoners were allowed to use a computer - no internet access, of course, but she had heavily bribed one of the wardens to publish her chapters on an internet fan fiction site once a week. She mentally arranged her files inside her head, then rolled over to face the wall. For some reason she was having trouble concentrating. Her head felt as though it were filled with cotton.

She allowed her legs to come crashing down on the mattress, and the turned her head to the side. Her vision was sliding in an out of focus. Colors and textures overlapped, and everything swirled into a haze. She twitched once, spasmodically, and then collapsed entirely, every muscle going slack. Then she simply vanished, slowly, one particle at a time. Ashleigh's scream drilled to the heavens.

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><p><strong>Name: Isabella Hanover<strong>

**Age: 14**

**Location: Washington, D.C.**

She clicked through her emails, flat blue eyes scanning the stacks of mail she received every day. Bored, she began methodically deleting them one at a time, first giving it a cursory glance to ensure it wasn't anything important, then deleting it. She received an average of thirteen emails a day - actually, thirteen and a quarter emails a day, but who was counting? She was not _the_ youngest grand chess master; but she was close. And the older she got, the better her skills at the chessboard increased. Which equaled more mail per day, more mail to _delete_ per day. She popped her knuckles as she watched her inbox empty, a rare smile flickering at the edges of her mouth. Smiling wasted energy, and she needed all the energy she could get to make sure she was the best she could be on the chessboard. It was how she played, which was what made her so unpredictable; she didn't have a strategy, a plan, or anything when she moved her first piece. She adapted to anything they threw at her. She seemed to know the ripple effect of her actions better than anyone else, which was also what made her almost unbeatable.

She opened up a chess program, clicking through her multiple accounts - her first account, TrojanHorse959, was constantly challenged whenever she logged on; everyone wanted to beat the fourteen year old genius girl who had the highest IQ tested in North America. She clicked on one of her "princess" accounts - PrettySparkle77 - and began challenging witless humans who would never be able to beat her in their puny, meaningless lives. It didn't take her long to get accepted; how could someone refuse a challenge from a fourteen year old girl whose name was PrettySparkle77? They went into the battle unprepared; their second mistake. Their first mistake was accepting the challenge at all.

She was well into her first game and about to check him for the second time in sixteen moves when she felt a curious sensation sweep over her body. Pins and needles wavered in and out, like a bad radio frequency. She sat back, closing the game with one numb finger. Her vision doubled, then tripled, then began going blurry. She toppled off her chair with a small thump, and everything went solidly black.

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><p><strong>Middle Earth<strong>

The scratching of the quill against parchment was the only noise in the small chamber. The two girls were seated across from each other on the small table, heads bent in mutual concentration. Their fluffy quills swirled patterns in the air as they wrote, occasionally pausing to shake out hand cramps. They had been writing for the past six hours, doing nothing but perfecting their character. Finally, the brunette leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. She was rather porky, with acne studded cheeks and small glasses perched on her nose, and her eyes were brown. She looked up at her friend, who was dangerously thin and twice as acne spotted, although she was blonde. "I'm done," the brunette said, finding her voice was hoarse from lack of use. "How about you?" The blonde leaned back in her chair and nibbled on her quill in a fit of nervous energy.

"Yeah. I'm worried it won't work. What if she has a flaw? She can't have a flaw. She has to be perfect. I think she's perfect." She studied her notes. "Tragic past, check. Unachievable beauty, check. Incredible fighting skills, check. Personality…" She looked up at her overweight friend. "We never decided on her personality. Spitfire? Angsty? Goddess? Wise?"

"Let's go with Goddess," her friend said. "Just write it in the margins. I think we're done. We're done, right?"

The blonde looked over her notes carefully, then nodded.

The Sue was completed, ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting Fellowship.


	2. Splash

**A/N: I must warn you, this is a parody, but not a funny one. I really don't write humor well. However, I do describe things in an extremely long winded fashion. If this kind of writing style turns you off, click the "back" button right now.**

She cartwheeled through space and time, stroking universes with the tips of her fingers as she felt herself spiraling downwards. Even with her eyes straining to see anything, there was nothing but solid black, black so painful and sharp that it seemed as though it could slice her very soul. She tried to kick her legs, much as a swimmer would dislodge tangles of weeds, but her body continued to float, weightlessly, through the darkness. There was a far away pinprick of white, and she tried to struggle amid the suffocating shadows. The pinprick got larger, swelling into milky whiteness that scorched her eyes and made her shudder. Everything rippled, almost as though a stone had been thrown into the depths of the time itself, and she blinked. Was that wind roaring through her ears? The falling sensation increased, and now she could feel breeze sending her frizzy hair upwards in stiff peaks. The whiteness became distinctly fluffy, and as she passed through the whiteness her clothes began to dampen. Then glimpses of green and flashes of blue streaked across her vision as she continued to fall. Panic clawed at her chest as she began kicking at midair, uselessly propelling herself to the hard, unforgiving ground. She saw a stripe of blue growing larger and larger, and one dim thought prevailed through her mind: she was about to fall into a river from several miles above the ground. Not only would she be flattened upon impact, but with her luck, she would smash her head on a rock and die. The fall, which had been taking forever up until this point, suddenly decided it was over, and Madison smashed face-first into a wide river.

_Fla-boohm!_

There was a whiteout of bubbles, and everything was airless, icy cold, and sopping wet. Her fingertips actually touched the gravelly bottom, and she tried to scream. Instead of filling her lungs with air, she filled them with water, and she began coughing. Naturally, this filled her small body with more liquid, and she began struggling towards the green surface which was beckoning invitingly. Her shoulder cracked into a rock, and she ignored the pain that shot up her arm. Oxygen was what she needed. She needed air. That one, raw thought consumed her mind until it was all she could think of. Huge black roses bloomed in her vision, and she broke the surface just as she thought her head would explode. Before her mouth even cleared the water she was drinking droughts of air. The first breath came back up, laced with fluid, but she greedily devoured more gulps of oxygen. The current was pulling her viciously downstream, foamy white caps gurgling hungrily around mossy boulders. Her feet couldn't touch bottom, and she grappled for control as her fingers slid uselessly over a slick rock. Not for the first time, she cursed her disability for swimming. It had been on her "to-do" list for almost five years. Her hands stole purchase on a soggy log that was oozing moisture whenever she squeezed. It groaned sadly and snapped apart in her savage grip, but she lunged for another handful of rotting log before the river plunged her underneath the water again. Bit by bit she clung to the rapidly disintegrating log until her toes scraped the bottom of the river.

She flopped on the bank, still marveling at her breathing, and wondered for the first time where in the world she was. Everything on her was soaked, and her shoes felt as though someone had clipped lead weights to them. She sat up blearily after a few moments of tense breathing and rubbed water out of her eyes, pushing her glasses up her face in the process. It was astonishing the small things were still on her nose, come to think of it, considering she had nearly drowned. A few mouthfuls of water were coughed up, and she shakily mounted her legs and stumbled over to a convenient stone which was roughly the size of a dinner table. After a long few moments, she dared to look around. The green river was rushing away from her busily, churning around large rocks, and the banks were lined with smooth tan pebbles. A treeline was about twenty feet away on either side of the river, and Madison decided the river was essentially larger when the rainy seasons were high. This once more brought up the question of where she was. The last thing she remembered was passing out on the back porch, and now she had cheated death twice in the past five minutes. Was this some kind of illusion?

It is quite possible that small Madison Poole would have gone on debating the idea of a simulation for some time had she not caught sight of a woman pulling herself from the river. The woman hauling herself out of the fast current was short, but several inches taller than Madison herself, who was only five foot two inches. Even from this distance, Madison could tell that the woman was slightly plump, but in a rounded way. She looked like the kind of person in which a bit of weight looks good on them. Madison was relieved to see that she was wearing normal clothes; jeans clung tightly to her curvy form because of the water, and Madison could see the thin outlines of her bra underneath her soaking tee shirt. Madison picked her way downstream until she was nearly level with the girl, who was still sprawled on the banks swallowing air. Madison tentatively poked her side with her foot, and the woman's eyes shot open, revealing bright green eyes that were precisely the shade of frost-covered fir trees.

"What the hell?" the woman spluttered, sitting up. Close up, Madison could see that she had one of those adorable "baby-faces" that were quite rare in adults. Her full cheeks and pouting lips gave her the look of a ten year old, but the fierceness in her silver-green eyes quite contradicted the rest of her face. Gingerly the woman got to her feet. "Who are you? And where am I?"

"Hi," Madison said with a little smile. "I'm Madison Poole. And I'm not exactly sure where we are. Who are you?"

The woman regarded her for a moment, then stuck out her hand. "Hey. I'm Daphne. Daphne Anderson. Nice to meet you. Now what happened? How did we get here?"

Madison scratched her head ruefully. "I don't know. I was sitting on my back porch when I passed out. I believe this is some kind of simulated illusion brought on by lack of fluid, causing a dehydration quandary which resulted in either a coma or an extremely realistic mirage."

Daphne's silvery eyes narrowed, widened, then narrowed again. "I have no idea what you just said, but I get the coma part. I was reading a book when I got a migraine, then I fell into the river. I swam for a bit, then managed to climb out. Where do you think we are? It doesn't feel like an illusion, or a quandary, or whatever."

"I have heard that simulated illusions can be quite authentic," Madison said predictably. "There is one other option, although I hardly dare to entertain the notion."

"Well, do me a favor, Madison, and entertain it in plain English," Daphne grumbled, pulling off her shoes and wringing out her socks.

"We might be dead." Madison said simply. Daphne looked up, surprise and thoughtfulness written all over her face.

"That might not be so bad. Other than falling into the river part, that kind of sucked, but look around. It's kind of pretty here." Daphne said, gesturing to the surrounding forest and foamy river.

Madison suddenly froze, her smoky blue eyes very wide, and pointed one shaking finger downstream. "Look!" she squeaked, her voice suddenly very high pitched. "People!"

Daphne got to her feet, wriggling her bare toes, and squinted. There were two people trooping downstream, and from this distance she couldn't tell who or what they were. An odd tense feeling stole over her, making the tips of her ears prickle and goosebumps streak across her skin. It was as though someone had walked over her grave. She shivered suddenly, the stiff breeze chilling her, and she shaded her eyes to see better.

A dark-skinned Hispanic man and a young girl came trooping up the bank. The young girl appeared quite dry and comfortable, with a small, self-satisfied smile perched on her face, while the young Hispanic man seemed drenched and very irritated. He was carrying a thick leather jacket over one shoulder, and this exposed the inky black tattoo that was swirling around the back of his neck and collarbones. A diamond earring twinkled on his left ear, and when he caught sight of Daphne and Madison he offered a shifty one sided grin that suited him very well. He was tall and lanky, with an easygoing grace that made him appear very handsome. Black hair had been spiked and gelled into dangerously sharp peaks, making him appear more street savvy and lethal. Unlike Daphne's tousled blonde spikes, his had been perfected into needle-sharp points.

The young girl was pretty in an angular, solemn way. Her forehead was rather wide but made her look intelligent, and there was a smug smile on her face. She seemed very pleased with herself that she was the only person who was completely dry, and she folded her arms to enhance her satisfied smile. She looked quite young, perhaps twelve or thirteen, and she had yet to develop the swells and curves of a woman, although her blue-black eyes were glittering with an adult triumph that had yet to be matched by any of the other girls. She evaluated the two women carefully, arching one thin eyebrow at the clothing made tight by wetness, and Daphne scowled. Something about the small child made her skin crawl and her hackles rise. "Hey," Daphne offered. "Who are you?"

The young man bounded across the small distance that still separated them and snatched Daphne's hand fiercely. His grip was like having your fingers caught in a drawer, and Daphne winced. Madison, seeing this, quickly stuffed her hands into her pockets. "Hey, ladies, I'm Michael. Michael Rodriguez. Nice to meet you. This is Isabella Hanover." He flicked a finger disparagingly at the young girl, and Daphne saw a little scowl flitter across his face for a fraction of a moment. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Daphne Anderson, and this is Madison Poole. So you're here too, huh?" Daphne said, trying to give Isabella the same evil eye the young girl was giving her. Isabella smirked nastily and shook her hand.

"Have you deduced where we are yet?" Isabella challenged, sounding identical to a third grade teacher springing out a pop quiz on a Monday. Madison licked her lips nervously and tried on a little smile.

"We decided that we are either in a coma induced stupor or otherwise unattractively detained," Madison said. Daphne cleared her throat loudly, and Madison sheepishly added, "Um, I mean, we're either unconscious or dead."

Isabella reached over to Daphne, and with no warning pinched her hard on her rounded forearm. "Ouch!" Daphne yelped, instinctively swatting her hand away. "What was that for?" she demanded, ready to scratch her eyes out. Isabella seemed supremely tranquil, and gave a know-it-all smirk.

"If we were dead, we wouldn't be able to feel that, now could we? It's quite possible that we are unconscious or in a coma, but I highly doubt it. So, none of you have figured out where we are?" she asked.

"I have."

They all swung around as if connected to a string and saw a young woman climbing down from a tree. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit that had MILLER, MELODY 90087 stenciled on the sleeve. A sheet of rippling blonde hair was tossed carelessly over one shoulder, and her long legs and slender form made her appear very supermodel-ish. She blinked lazily, a smile curving her rosebud lips, and they all noticed her large, honey-brown eyes that were lined with dark mascara. She looked very sweet and innocent, but if the orange suit was anything to speak for, she was anything but. "Didn't you feel it? You all passed out, right?" Melody said, circling them like a bird of prey. "You all felt a fuzzy feeling, and then passed out. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Michael said slowly, who was staring at Melody's cleavage like he had just discovered that the moon was made of cork.

"Then we're dead," Melody said simply. "We all had either a heart attack, or we got migraines -" here she tipped her blonde head in Daphne's direction - "and fell down, then hit our heads on something. It's as simple as that."

But if the two elves on the shoreline had anything to say about it, it was certainly not as simple as that.


	3. Elrohir & Elladan

**A/N: Enjoy this new chapter!**

The two elves standing silently on the bank were identical, down to the dark widow's peak that pointed towards their sharp profiles, their dark hair and eyes, and high, fine cheekbones. The one of the left was slightly taller, and his buttery-smooth bow was already in his hands, although his arrows were still in his quiver. They melted into the treeline once more, staying completely silent and out of sight of the five newcomers who had fallen from the sky. After a long moment that was taut with tension, the shorter one - respectively speaking - spoke up, breaking the glassy dome of silence that had settled over the whole forest. Not even the birds were twittering.

"These are not the warriors we are looking for," were the first words out of Elrohir's mouth. His mouth tightened slightly to show the depth of his displeasure, and his fingers twitched of their own accord. He itched to notch an arrow to his bow and challenge these five strangers, but the serene presence of his twin kept him from doing something he would no doubt regret. Elladan lay a soothing hand on his brother's shoulder, dark liquid eyes never leaving the motley group of strangers who were sitting on the ground in a circle.

"We are not searching for warriors, brother," Elladan said in Elvish, his voice as low and silky as a whisper in the night. "Mithrandir has told us to look for scribes. And from the looks of that young woman over yonder, they carry the look and demeanor of that very profession."

"But look at them!" Elrohir said irritably, forgetting to whisper. His rapid Elvish flowed from his lips like water twisting around a rock, and his brows furrowed into a V as he gestured to the group of people. "They bear no signs of ever being in Middle Earth before. Surely Mithrandir could not have meant these…children."

"They are not children," Elladan said softly, and his grip tightened on his brother's forearm. "And they are more than they appear, if my eyes have not yet failed me."

"You would be willing to trust complete strangers?" Elrohir asked incredulously. Elrohir finally tore his gaze from the small bunch, and their black eyes locked. In a voice that was darkly low and perfectly serious, he growled at his twin.

"That…_miscreant_…is threatening our entire lives, brother! How can she be our sister? I would trust strangers to get rid of them, yes, even mortal strangers! I would trust _dwarves_ if it meant getting rid of that abomination!"

"You cannot be serious, brother," Elrohir gasped. "Dwarves? In Imaldris? Impossible! The last time they were here was with Mithrandir himself, and that was only for a few days at best."

"If it means losing our dear _sister_," Elladan growled, his jaw clenched as he spat out the last word, "I would put my own life in their hands."

"Do not honor her with the title of our kin," Elrohir snapped. "It is completely absurd to grace Melamin Lirima Anar Ithil Elen with the label of our sister. And I fear for Arwen; she was reduced to tears last evening over her sharp remarks concerning her dress."

"All the more reason we must escort these people to Imaldris," Elladan said. "Come, brother. Let us introduce ourselves."

* * *

><p>Melody lay on her stomach, piling rocks on top of one another carefully, forming a pyramid of smooth river rocks that nearly touched her chin. When the final pebble was perched tremblingly on its side, she stuck a leaf into the crack. With a catty smile, she leveled the structure and once more turned her face towards the rest of the group. They had been bouncing around ideas of where they were for the past twenty minutes, and Melody was getting very bored. Daphne was becoming very bossy and pushy, and a dispute between Isabella and the spiky haired blonde had nearly degenerated into a brawl. Madison, or Maddie as Daphne called her, was pretty much staying quiet and out of the picture. Michael had been flirting constantly with everybody ever since they had introduced themselves. He was one of those annoying males who had the nasty habit of directing his comments to a certain place just south of her chin instead of her face, a habit which Melody was going to correct the next time he checked her out. Melody was about to roll onto her back and insist that they stop yakking and find something to eat, when they all saw something approaching them silently from the left.<p>

Maddie, naturally, had the loudest and most vocal reaction; namely, she shrieked to the heavens and fell to one side as the two elves knelt next to them. Daphne, who had been sitting next to the bushy-haired bookworm, caught her carefully, then got to her feet. She was diminutive at best, but her plump features and silver-green eyes were enough to startle Elrohir into keeping his tongue. "This is ridiculous!" Daphne snapped. "Who are you? And don't do that again!"

"Do what again, my lady?" Elladan asked innocently. "We merely came over to make your acquaintance."

"No, you haven't," Isabella said, steepling her fingers in her lap. Her dark eyes narrowed with satisfaction. "You've been standing over by those trees for the past twenty three minutes and eighteen seconds. You were talking in a different language which I believe to be a combination of French, Latin, English, and rooted in some language I haven't had time to analyze yet. But judging by your body language, I would hazard a guess that you were decided whether or not we were dangerous. And as you can very well see from all the way over there, we are relatively alone and unarmed. Considering you already have this fact in your arsenal, you came over here to either discreetly check us for weaponry at closer inspection, or you have decided we do _not_ pose a threat and have come to see if we will volunteer more information about ourselves." She looked around at the six blank faces around her. "It's elementary, really."

"How did you keep track of the minutes and seconds like that?" Madison asked. "It's fascinating, and also intriguing to know that your brain has multiple levels of concentration pertaining to such a high concentration. Did you train yourself, or-"

"Yes, as _fascinating_ as it is," Daphne said, loudly overriding Madison's interested questions, "we need to find out who these two _gentlemen_ are." She stressed the word "gentlemen", stretching it and warping it until it sounded positively insulting. However, Elladan seemed quite unperturbed.

"My name is Elladan, and this is my brother Elrohir. We are the sons of -"

"Elrond, and your sister is Arwen Undómiel, the Evanstar of her people," Michael interrupted, his chocolate brown eyes wide as saucers. "You live in Imaldris, you're twins, which is quite rare among the elves, considering they can only have one child every ten years. Holy shit, do you guys know what this means?" Michael asked, looked excitedly around at the rest of them. "It means -"

"We're in Middle Earth." Daphne, Isabella, Madison and Melody supplied, all sounding as though they were in various stages of shock. There was a long silence, broken only by the rippling river in the background. Then Melody slapped her thigh loudly, and in the still calm of the midmorning, it was positively explosive.

"I don't believe this! We're in another, _fictional_, world? How is that even possible?" Melody asked, running both hands through her hair. "We died or something, and ended up _here_?"

"Well, it beats being dead, doesn't it?" Daphne said rudely. "Now if you'll both shut up so Elrohir and Elladan can explain properly, we can continue."

Madison, however, was not about to shut up. "Which part of the story are we in?" she asked excitedly. "I mean, which chapter? Has the Council of Elrond already happened yet? Did Arwen and Aragorn fall in love? Has Frodo taken the One Ring?"

"Shh, Maddie, you're giving away the story!" Daphne hissed. "Just ignore everything she just said," she ordered, and Elladan and Elrohir nodded obediently, masking their complete bewilderment under a stoic mask of chilly indifference.

"I believe Mithrandir would be better suited to explain," Elrohir said hesitantly. There was a delighted squeal from Madison.

"We're going to meet _Gandalf_?" she spluttered, clinging to Daphne in her eagerness. The spiky-haired blonde sighed and calmly peeled her demonstrative friend off of her arm.

"No, wait, why would Gandalf be better suited to explain?" Isabella asked, her eyes almost closing. Then she snapped her fingers. "He brought us here, didn't he?"

"I shall not ask how she figured that out," Elladan murmured in Elvish to Elrohir. "More then meets the eye, eh, brother?"

"Indeed." Elrohir breathed back.

They stood, stretching various kinks in joints and muscles, and began to follow Elrohir and Elladan to the river's edge. Madison suddenly looked very frightened. "We're not crossing the river, are we?" she asked worriedly. "I mean, not that I'm scared, or anything, but, the last time I was in there, I nearly _drowned_."

"There is nothing to fear, my lady," Elrohir said soothingly. "The river narrows further up, and there are stepping stones in which you may cross over upon. Follow us." He took off upstream, his feet dancing lightly atop the ground, hardly seeming to touch it. Elladan was bounding ahead, feet brushing the rocks with the scantest amount of weight possible. The rest of them trudged along, shuffling through pebbles and scourging up ruts in the sandy rocks. Michael couldn't keep quiet about Lord of the Rings, and Daphne was centimeters away from strangling him. Fortunately, they arrived at the crossing only a few minutes later. The river had narrowed considerably, and there were five smooth boulders dotted seemingly randomly across it, marking a jagged path in which one could hop from rock to rock and reach the other side. Elrohir streaked across it, faster than Daphne was able to register, and was standing calmly on the other bank before anyone could blink. Elladan followed him quickly, and this time they all watched closely. His foot nearly slipped, but he was so fast it was difficult to tell.

"Come, there is nothing to fear," Elladan said briskly. "There is nothing to it."

"Nothing to it for elves, maybe," Melody grumbled, and folded her arms. "Whose going first?"

Nobody answered, but Daphne took a deep breath and leaped to the first rock. It was a lot slipperier than she had imagined, and she nearly took an unwanted bath in the icy stream. Then, with some trepidation, she mounted the next one that was situated rather far off, and she managed to cross the rest of it without too much trouble. Finally, she wiped her hands on her damp jeans and brushed her wet hair back from her forehead. "Come on, you guys," she encouraged. "It's simple."

Michael crossed next, and despite his agility and dexterity, he slid halfway off the third rock and soaked his pants up to the knees. Deciding he was already wet, he pushed off from the rock and swam to shore with three powerful strokes. He tossed his leather jacket on the bank and clambered up after it, grinning that shifty, one-cornered grin. "Gimmie some love, Daffi!" he said, and the two of them high fived. "Yow! C'mon, Maddie, let's rock 'n' roll!"

Isabella meandered upstream a bit, and emerged not ten seconds later with a green stick she had apparently snapped off a tree. Elrohir looked horrified, and Elladan seemed as though he were trying hard not to swim across the river, snatch the limb out of her hands, and pray to whatever deity he could think of to bless the broken branch. Isabella picked at the thick end of it with her thumbnail, then gripped it hard. She backed up until her back scraped the treeline, then raced towards the stream. She toed off with the branch, arching neatly over the rushing river, and landed hard on her hands and knees, skinning both of them harshly. Daphne felt an unfamiliarly smug feeling against the young girl's injuries, but it vanished like a candle flame when Isabella got to her feet. "Not a problem," she announced, as if the whole world should stop and write it down. "Come on, Madison." she said, although it sounded more like a provocation than encouragement.

Melody glanced at Maddie, who was chewing fiercely on her knuckles. Shrugging, Melody skipped across the boulders neatly, exactly as Elrohir and Elladan had done, then brushed her hands off. They all stared at her, jaws slack. "What? It's not hard." she said, then flipped her blonde hair. Nobody noticed her long fingers dipping into Elrohir's pocket and sliding a small object into her own orange jumpsuit. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and folded her arms. "Let's go, Maddie!" she cried, and their attention was focused on the short girl with the frizzy hair and thick glasses. Maddie gnawed furiously on her thumb, then licked her lips nervously.

"TOWANDA!" she shouted, and charged atop the first rock. Bit by bit she managed to crawl her way across the river, getting herself completely soaked in the process. When she stood, dripping wet but wholly triumphant, on the other side, she was beaming. "Excellent!" she said, and wrung out her damp hair. "Shall we depart?"


	4. Meet The Sue

**A/N: Okay, I don't usually do this, but…C'mon! Only three reviews? You guys can do way better then that! And I'm dedicating this chapter to the three people who did review, LUNA GURLZ, Ricoch3t, and PatonxJulia. Enjoy this chapter, everybody! We meet the Sue!**

The path behind the winding river was only wide enough for one person to pass through at a time. Elrohir and Elladan leapt through the spiny claws of the holly bushes gracefully, their clothes and skin unscathed; it was less agreeable for the five men and women who filed behind them, and by the time they dodged the last holly bush, their skin was scratched and nicked in a dozen places. Daphne, who was leading the way behind Elrohir and Elladan, noted with mixed sympathy and glee that Isabella went tumbling head over heels. Despite the younger girl's frosty attitude, she was still only a child, and Daphne felt some responsibility. All feelings of matronly pity popped like a soap bubble when Isabella gave a cold, sharp glare to Daphne when she tried to help her up. Inwardly growling, the spiky-haired blonde continued down the path after the two handsome elves, trying to focus on the surrounding area. Although the wood around her was full of majestic trees and a creeping green veil of moss, everything was too quiet and the colors seemed muted. There was only one yellow-breasted warbler singing in the trees, and in the dim silence it sounded frightened and sad. The path was carpeted in brown pine needles that muffled every footstep, although Maddie was still managing to make some noise because Daphne could hear her all the way up front. An overcast sky was darkening rapidly, and to the west she could see black clouds spilling across the sky like ink staining a precious document. Ribbons of lightning wove through the blackness, and miles away she could hear the faintest echo of thunder. Elrohir looked up, his dark eyes narrowing, and then his pace quickened.

Melody fingered the smooth green stone that was in her pocket. She really had no idea why the stupid elf had been carrying it around, but it felt slick and hard underneath her fingers and was quite addicting to play with. Her thieving hands had been hoping to find purchase upon money, for coinage of any kind was valuable, but instead she had this dumb rock in her pocket. Although it must be of some value if he had been carrying it around, and Melody wondered for the briefest instant if they used rocks for money. The larger the rock, the more the value? It would be awkward to carry around, Melody decided, it the rock were _too_ large. But it would be sinfully easy to get some; all she needed was a pickaxe and a shovel, and she would have a mountain of granite in a twinkling. She flipped her bangs out of her eyes for an instant, then sighed. Her mind was running in circles; of course elves wouldn't use rocks for currency. No species that beautiful could be that primitive when it came to money. But judging by his antique clothes and swords, the elves had to have _some_ cash on them. And Melody needed to search him a little better in order to find it. She doubled her pace and skipped past Maddie, who seemed to be trying to break the record for tripping over tree branches, then scooted around Isabella. The dark haired girl gave her a sour glance, then let her pass. Daphne, who wasn't so easy to push over, turned and gave Melody a calculating look.

"What's up?" she asked. Melody flashed her winning smile, passing her fingers through her long blonde hair and twirling a strand of it around her finger. That particular gesture always succeeded in charming every judge, jury, and male in a ten-mile radius.

"Oh, nothing, just wanted to squeeze by you real quick," Melody said sweetly, touching one finger to the corner of her mouth. Daphne's silvery green eyes narrowed, but the ruse worked because she stepped to one side with a slighted look.

"Be my guest," Daphne said, sounding only marginally put out. She liked to lead and be in front.

"Thanks!" Melody said, darting around the plump rockstar and bumping purposefully into Elrohir. She pressed against him lightly, her movements sure and feather-light. She had done this millions of times, and every time it never failed. One hand shot out as if to catch herself, and Melody kept a look of fear on her face as if she were about to fall. The other hand, mostly hidden by Elrohir's torso, went deep into his pocket and this time nearly snatched a fat leather pouch by the very tip. But Melody had forgotten one thing; however reliable this may have been on humans, she was now dealing with elvish reflexes and senses. Elrohir's hand, calloused from archery and swordfighting, seized her wrist and hauled her upright before Melody could blink. The false alarm slipped from her face and she looked confused, then plastered a smile on her lips.

"That was a close one! Thanks a ton!" she squeaked, and tried to remove her hand from his pocket before things got too awkward. Elrohir raised one eyebrow.

"Did you attempt to pick my pocket, _edan_?" he asked, velvet tones tumbling over his low growl. Melody opened her clear blue eyes wide with faux innocence, then shook her head.

"Oh, god, no!" she said. "No, I would never do that!" She made sure to keep a shocked note in her voice and her eyes wide. This worked. Usually. But how in the name of all saints and sins did he manage to catch her so _quickly_?

It was an excellent chance that Elrohir would have pinned her against the nearest tree and barked something obscene in Elvish at her, but a distant rumble of thunder broke his anger like glass. He settled for a dark glare and clamping his fist on her wrist before continuing behind his brother. "We are transporting _thieves_ to Imaldris, brother?" he hissed in elvish, jaw clenched furiously. Elladan kept his eyes straight ahead, occasionally flicking a glance upwards to watch the oncoming rain.

"She might not have been trying to pick your pocket," Elladan reasoned. "She might have merely been making a grab for something solid to catch her before she fell."

"That is a lie worthy of only Morgoth, brother," Elrohir snapped briskly, Elvish fumbling from his lips in his anger. "I cannot believe we are inviting these..." - he gave the group a contemptuous sneer - "..._fools_ into our homes!"

09

As the oncoming rain began to patter on the treetops in earnest, Elladan, who had been leading, stopped abruptly. "What is it, brother?" Elrohir asked curiously, and then he saw her as well. All the breath was expelled from his chest at once, and his dark eyes went very wide. Daphne elbowed her way to the front, brow furrowing as she began to diagnose the halt in their process. As a rule, Daphne wasn't a fan of rainstorms and she wanted to get to Imaldris as soon as possible. But when she was between the twins, she stopped just as suddenly and her mouth dropped open.

Ahead of them was a little glen, rimmed by lush ferns that stood out strikingly green from the rather calm, subdued colors of the rest of the forest. A carpet of thick, fuzzy moss rolled over the ground, and tiny blue flowers were clustered here and there, pouting periwinkle petals sulking in perfect symmetry. The branches had somehow grown together to form some sort of a roof over the tiny clearing, and Daphne could hear the raindrops splashing lightly on the leaves which covered them. But it wasn't the unusual forest growth that had caught their eyes; it was the stunning woman sitting on a log in the exact center of the clearing. Despite the interlaced branches and the dark skies, a beam of sunlight stroked the air and a million golden dust motes formed a golden halo around her, framing her in an angelic light. Dark curls, the color of a raven's wing or a midnight's cry, cascaded in gentle curls down her back and shoulders. Silver eyes, the exact color of the full moon - which had suddenly, inexplicably, ridiculously, and for-all-plot-purposes-uselessly appeared for a moment above them, even though it was still late afternoon and the shaft of sunlight was still on the woman. Her eyes were beautiful, full of grief and suffering too harsh and cruel for mortal man to bear. But they also contained a strength and dignity that none of them had ever seen before, and Daphne felt emotion welling up in her chest, even though she wasn't a crier as a rule. A harp was sitting on the dark-haired woman's knee, and she was strumming a hauntingly pretty melody that tinkled gently in the forest, even above the approaching rain. At the sound of their arrival, she turned her amazingly beautiful face towards them and brushed away a perfect crystalline tear.

"Oh, brothers," she said, and Daphne could hear a slight hitch in her throat. "Our poor friend Frodo Baggins lays grievously wounded. Our father would not permit me to sing to him, even though I told him my angelic singing voice has healing powers. I believe..." - Here her dulcet tones broke completely and more tears rolled down her rosy cheeks - "...I believe our father despises me!"

Elrohir and Elladan, who had only moments ago been criticizing this very woman extremely harshly, flew to her side. Daphne watched with one eyebrow raised as they petted and soothed her, speaking Elvish to her eloquently. Although the scene seemed as though it had jumped straight out of a Peter Jackson film, Daphne felt slightly off. Just a faint ripple, as if something were torn in the grand scheme of things. It might have had something to do with the weirdly goofy looks on Elrohir's and Elladan's faces, as if they each had swallowed an apple whole. "Just a second," Daphne said, interrupting their gorgeous elvish speeches. "Who are you, anyway?"

"How dare you speak to our beloved sister in such a fashion!" Elrohir growled, up on his feet in a moment. His hand darted to his hip, and a dagger was in his hands faster than blinking. "Apologize to her, human!"

Isabella had elbowed her way to the front and folded her arms, eyes narrowing as she took in the stunning woman crying in front of them. Idly, she steepled her fingers and evaluated the woman carefully. "Calm down, Elrohir," Isabella said firmly, a bite of impatience in her words. Elrohir opened his mouth to spit an angry retort when Isabella cut him off chillingly. "Daphne was just being rude, as I'm sure she is most of the time. Let's pretend she's apologized, you've forgiven her, and all that crap. Introduce your _sister_, and everything will be just peachy."

Elrohir opened and shut his mouth a few times, then shook himself all over as if he were a dog trying to rid water from his coat. "Yes, well, this is our adored sister, Melamin Lirima Anar Ithil Adavis Elen Artemis Raven Moonshadow, whom everybody calls Adavis. Sister, these are travelers from a distant land whom our father and Mithrandir have sent for. I believe you have heard of them?"

"Oh, yes," Melamin Lirima Anar Ithil Adavis Elen Artemis Raven Moonshadow said in a sweet, chirruping voice like a babbling brook or a cheerful sparrow. "I have come out here to wait for you and to speak to the Valar on Frodo's behalf." She eyed Daphne, running her ethereal blue eyes over her plump, rounded figure; generous breasts and hips, spiked frosted blonde hair, baby face and scowl, then curtseyed prettily. The same treatment was given to Isabella, and Melamin Lirima (Oh, forget it, we'll just call her Adavis now,) seemed less fond of Isabella's skinny figure and sneer. Melody had managed to push her way into the clearing, and Adavis smiled perfectly at her. "Oh, I _adore_ your cloak!" she cried, fingering the rough orange jumpsuit. "How clever of you to sew your pants and tunic together like that. Although, orange does not _quite_ suit you," she added, twisting her lips to the side. Melody, who had begun to paint a

False smile on her face, frowned, affronted, at Adavis's slighting remark.

Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and wolf-whistled, his shifty sideways grin flicking upwards. He seemed more intent on Adavis's long, shapely legs and full hourglass figure than on her face, but it managed to gain his attention shortly. "Hey," he said, jerking his chin. "Nice to meet you...Adavis." The way he said it, the way her name was quirked with his peculiar New York accent, made it seem drawn out and almost dirty, yet Adavis didn't blush in the slightest. She merely simpered and curtsied at him, throwing her long black hair over one shoulder and exposing her creamy neck. Then she got to Maddie and a horrified expression came over her face.

"Oh, _darling_!" she said, her elegant Elvish accent dropping from her words in her shock. "You look _horrible_!"

Any feelings of friendship that had been building in Daphne's chest imploded when she said this. She opened her mouth to say something, but Adavis cut her off as she began to explain exactly why Madison looked "horrible". As she continued, poor Madison blushed to the roots of her hair and ducked her chin, looking as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment. "Oh, you need to do _something_ with your hair. It's so _bushy_! And it has twigs and suchlike in it; and your _figure_! Darling, I understand that something the Valar doesn't bless us with flawless bodies, but you couldn't you wear a tight bodice to put a little 'oomph' into your breasts and swell out your hips? Really, dear, it's _very_ unappealing."

"Now, listen here-" Daphne began, a glint in her eyes like an angry dog. There was a flash of anger that made everything go crimson, and for an instant Daphne thought she could strike Adavis. But then it passed and Daphne settled for clenching her fists at her sides. "There's no reason to be insulting Maddie. What if I said I don't like the way your boobs are sticking out, or that I don't like the way you're flaunting your legs? Leave her alone, Mellie Adavis, or whatever the hell your name is." Her words were tripping over each other in her anger, and there was nothing but silence for a long moment. Then Adavis burst into a silvery, ringing laugh.

"There, there, there, little one," she cooed. "I'm sorry, Maddie, or whoever you are. It's just whenever I see someone not using their bodies to their full potential, I get so _upset_. Now, are we going to Imaldris? I _so_ want you to meet Mithrandir. We're the _best_ of friends!"


	5. There's Six Of Us?

**A/N: Much, much, MUCH, better! And now, if you'll all please review again...**

Isabella examined herself carefully in the long mirror that gleamed before her. They had trudged along the roads for a good half an hour in the pouring rain, getting mud splattered on them, and trying not to concentrate on Adavis's constant chattering. For someone so depressed, the beautiful elven lady was remarkably fascinated by her own sufferings. She recounted in great detail every tragedy that had befallen her life: being an orphan, teased constantly by other elleths, her uncle who had tried to kidnap her at the tender age of twelve, the arranged marriage with her cousin at the age of fifteen. Not to mention the dozens of times she had been in battles and nearly lost her life. Isabella had listened to them all, analyzing the cadence in her voice and the body language, and decided that Adavis was telling the truth, or at least she thought she was. But there was no mistaking _what_ Adavis was; Isabella didn't use the handlename MarySuePsycho69 for nothing. However, there was something different about this particular Mary Sue, and Isabella was determined to find out what. She turned around and examined the plush bed which had been thoughtfully made up for her arrival; on it was a pile of clothes.

She straightened the dark blue tunic which hung nearly to her knees, then belted the thin black belt which slouched over her narrow hips. Her eyes slitted, and then she made a face at the mirror. With the black leggings underneath the long tunic and the black boots, she looked as though she had just stepped out of _The Scarlet Pumpernickel_. Isabella had never been one much for dressing up, because most of her chess games were hosted in the blissful anonymity of the internet, but she did enjoy dressing well. And dressing like a prancing fop from the theater was not very high on her "to-do" list. She left her luxurious rooms and headed outside into the hallway. Across the hall was Melody, who was dressed in a similar outfit. Somehow, the crimson tunic and creamy white leggings looked a lot better on her than it did on Isabella, and the dark haired girl sneered at the pretty blonde. "Figure it out yet, fugitive?" she asked.

"I'm not a fugitive," Melody snapped in an equally nasty tone. All flirtatiousness and coyness had vanished, and Isabella had a very good feeling that she was looking at the real Melody Miller, not the girl who hid behind her own beauty. Isabella cocked an eyebrow, and Melody marveled how much sarcasm that one eyebrow lift could hold.

"Oh, really? So you prance around in orange jumpsuits for no reason, do you?" Isabella said, striding confidently down the hallway. Her analytical brain had memorized the intricate passageways through which Elrohir had shown them: left, right, straight, right, left, left, right. There appeared to be no order or sense to the layout of the palace, but Isabella had already figured out where everything was by simple deduction.

"So I was in jail, all right? I'm totally innocent. And I don't _prance_." Melody scowled, folding her arms. She didn't like blindly following a girl who was head and shoulders shorter than she, along with a girl who seemed as though she had figured her out. Melody didn't like being dissected. It was part of the reason she hated her father so much.

Isabella snorted. "Everyone who goes to jail says their innocent; you are no exception. And I suppose that little 'mishap' where you tried to rifle through Elrohir's pockets was a total accident, right?"

"You little-!" Melody spluttered. "I mean, I wasn't - It's not how it looked, all right!"

A serene, self-satisfied smile appeared on Isabella's face. It was very close to how a cat looks after finishing a bowl of cream. "Incomplete sentances," Isabella purred. "A sure sign of guilt."

Melody was about to pin Isabella against the wall and jab a knee into her solar plexus when Madison appeared out of nowhere. The bushy-haired girl looked close to tears, and her dark blue eyes were swimming behind her glasses. She had also bathed and changed, but the pale yellow tunic and brown leggings did nothing to aid her slender, unremarkable figure. "Oh, thank God!" she panted, sensibly short nails digging into her freckled cheeks. "I've been wandering around this infuriating labyrinth for eons now. I went looking for the restrooms and somehow sidetracked myself." She joined Isabella and Melody.

"Have you caught sight of Michael or Daphne as of yet?" she asked.

"Okay, Madison," Melody said, her teeth scraping against each other, "If you're trying to impress me by using a bunch of ridiculously long words, stop it right now. No, I haven't seen Daphne or Michael and neither has Isabella. She's been too busy _insulting_ me."

"I know how that feels," Madison said sympathetically, "Did you gander at the way that woman we met was talking? I thought I might weep."

"Madison," Isabella interrupted irritably, "Your book knowledge and expansive vocabulary are not helping you in this matter. Do both of us a favor and be quiet while I locate Michael and Daphne."

Madison, forever the obedient one, clamped her mouth shut and dutifully didn't say another word all the way to the dining hall.

* * *

><p>The dining hall was a behemoth of a room, with expansive ceilings that reached to the skies. Oaken pillars, intricately designed with fantastic sagas and depicting epics long forgotten, lined the room. Silken tapestries were draped artfully over the walls, splashes of bright color in the otherwise somber room. A huge table, scarred with thousands of imprints of boot heels and frosty ale mugs, stretched the length of the hallway. Chairs with velvet cushions placed lovingly upon each seat rimmed the gigantic table. At the very end, seven places had been set with the utmost care. Chalices full of some sparkling red liquid were at each setting, along with ivory-handled utensils and a wooden plate that had been painted beautifully with dozens of colors. Daphne was sitting with her feet propped on the table, butterscotch colored boots hovering dangerously close to her goblet of wine. She was laughing brightly at something Michael was telling her, but stopped when they entered. Her hair stood up in damp peaks, and the pale green tunic she was wearing matched her eyes closely. Michael was lounging regally over his chair, somehow managing to look amused, easy-going, handsome, and noble all at once. "Hey, guys," Daphne greeted. She didn't bother getting up, but instead groped for her wine and sipped it. "What took you so long?"<p>

"Miss Brainiac over here took a couple wrong turns," Melody lied, taking a seat next to Michael, ignoring the appreciative look he flashed at her cleavage. Melody was annoyed to see that the comment didn't faze Isabella in the least.

"I did nothing of the sort," Isabella said tartly. "Have _any_ of you figured out why we're in Middle Earth?"

"Because we're dead?" Michael ventured. When no one answered, he said defensively, "Well, why else are we here?"

"Have you even _looked_ at Adavis?" Isabella said, mouth slightly open. She could not believe she was fated to be grouped with these imbeciles. "She's the biggest, most obnoxious Mary Sue I have seen!"

"Oh!" Daphne said, looking up from her wine. "Wait, what is a Mary Sue doing in Middle Earth? I thought they only existed in fanfictions."

"That is what I would like you to tell me," came a deep voice from the doorway. They all looked up to see an old man leaning on a thick, stout stick. His clothes were long gray robes of some kind of coarse material, and they fell to the floor. A blue hat stood stiffly upwards as if it had been frightened, and a bushy white beard nearly touched his waist. Thick eyebrows were drawn upwards, and twinkling blue eyes sparkled underneath them as if he had just been told a merry joke. All five of the young adults bolted to their feet with various cries of shock and surprise.

"_Gandalf_?" Daphne said, gaping at the old man who was calmly taking a seat next to her. "Oh my God!" she breathed, sitting down hard. "I've never...I mean, it's a huge honor to meet you, sir!"

"Please," Gandalf said with a chuckle, "When you are as old as I, you will disregard such politeness as calling other people 'sir'. It makes me feel old." He rummaged around in his sleeves for a moment, then withdrew a polished black pipe which he stuck in the corner of his mouth. There was a flare of light as he lit his pipe, then a beautiful blue smoke ring puffed from his pipe. "Now, I suppose you all must introduce yourselves."

"I'm Daphne Anderson," Daphne said right away, for she liked to be in the lead. "It's wonderful to meet you, Gandalf."

"I'm Isabella Hanover," Isabella drawled, not looking up from her plate. Her pulse had flared once when he came in, for who didn't know and respect the old wizard? But now that the novelty had faded she was as sour as before. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Michael Rodriguez, very cool to meet you," Michael said, shaking Gandalf's hand. His shifty, sideways grin flickered on his mouth. "Peace, and all that."

"I'm Melody Miller," Melody said sweetly, feathering her hands through her hair. "I can't _believe_ you're Gandalf! Amazing! Can you do any spells?"

"At another time, perhaps," Gandalf chuckled. Then his bright blue eyes turned on Madison, who was still staring at Gandalf with her mouth wide open and her eyes huge smoky blue orbs. "And who is this young lady who stares at me so?"

"I'm M-Madison," Madison stuttered. "Madison P-Poole. You're Gandalf? Gandalf Greyhame? Mithrandir? Gandalf the Gray?"

"Those are some of my names, yes," Gandalf acquiesced with a slight nod. "And now that it appears you all know who _I_ am, and I know who _you_ are, I believe I should explain properly." He leaned back in his chair, puffing on his pipe and sending smoke rings to the ceiling. "Oh, where to begin?

"I suppose I should begin at the beginning. You see, a very long time ago, when this world was still young, I stumbled upon a spell that could bring others to our world. It seemed simple enough; just a bit of magic, the right ingredients, and everything would be wonderful. I brought a very nice young woman into this world, and she stayed here. Slowly, her body and mind became deeply connected to Middle Earth, and the natural magic that our world is steeped in changed her appearances. You shall meet her later, I believe, but it is important right now that I get the whole story out before I get distracted. I continued on my way, passing through my life. What I didn't realize is that I inadvertently opened a portal for other creatures to come in. I believe you already met the charming Miss Adavis."

"Yes, we had the pleasure of making her _acquaintance_," Daphne growled. Her hands snapped to fists. Adavis's comments about Maddie still rankled her harshly.

"Well, Miss Adavis is merely one of the many who have come in through many different worlds. They go from world to world, changing events and quirking legends, subtly rearranging some while wholly rennovating others. You can see the obvious danger they pose to this world. I have been able to get by with bringing one or two excellent authors to 'write' them out of our world. However -" here his brow furrowed, "My other attempts to take this particular woman out of our world has been largely unsuccessful. I have brought in three young authors in succession, and now I have decided to use you six."

"But there's only five of us," Madison squeaked. Gandalf smiled.

"Not five, little Maddie. Six." He paused, and then the large oaken door boomed open with a crack like thunder. Gandalf looked up with a pleased smile on his features. "And I believe this is him now!"

An old man with very gray hair came in, stripping off his gloves. Instead of tunics and leggings, he wore neatly pressed black trousers, a crisp white shirt that was rolled to the elbow, a dark gray vest, and a plum cravat. He was quite old, and handsome in a clean-cut, elegant way, and tiny glasses were perched on the tip of his nose. Striking brown eyes, warm and soft as a pile of furs, regarded the motley crew and he smiled.

"How rude of me!" he cried, and they discovered he had the snap of a heavy British accent in his voice, "Forgive me for arriving late; I was busy being entertained by our young horses. Horses fascinate me, you know," he added with a warm glance at Daphne. What he said next managed to make Maddie faint, Daphne shriek, Michael swear, Melody gasp, and Isabella look surprised all at once.

"I am John Tolkien, but please," he smiled at them again, "Call me Ronald."


	6. We're In Deep Now

**A/N: Make me happy and review! Pretty please? Lots of explanations in here; tell me if I got Tolkien right!**

"_Tolkien_?"

"TOLKIEN?"

"Oh, my God!"

"What the hell?"

"Curious."

There was a muffled crash as Maddie's chair toppled over.

The distinguished gentleman stripped off his gloves neatly and threw them down on the table. He tipped his chair backwards with the air of a man who is very well at home, then slapped his pockets for his pipe. "Ah!" he said, clamping his polished buckthorn pipe between his crooked teeth. He offered them a smile as he lit his pipe with a flare of a match, striking it against his thumb. There was a cloud of contented smoke around him, and he joined Gandalf in blowing smoke rings. Gandalf languidly changed them colors as they smoked, and for some minutes all that could be heard was Madison hyperventilating and the tiny 'pop' of Gandalf changing the smoke into new and interesting colors. Daphne swatted at the wreaths of powder blue smoke that was wreathing her head, and then bounced in her seat impatiently. She wanted some answers, but she didn't want to demand them. She was in the presence of one of the greatest literary giants of all time! And he was blowing smoke rings! With Gandalf! After a long moment, Tolkien spoke up. "I suppose you do want some answers," he said regretfully, pushing his pipe to the corner of his mouth.

"Duh," Michael said, sitting on his hands to keep himself from applauding his favorite author. Isabella leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, dark eyes narrowing as she examined Tolkien. Madison's fingers twitched impulsively, and she wondered if it would be rude to ask for an autograph. Melody, spangled eyes wide, was staring like a stuck pig at Tolkien, as though he would dissolve into sand or pull firecrackers from his ears at any moment. Considering whom he was, she wouldn't have been surprised.

"Well, it all began when I first wrote _The Hobbit," _Tolkien began reflectively. "It wasn't my first book, you know; I'd published a few capitol ones before that. But _The Hobbit_ had such funny characters - Bilbo was always my favorite to write," he said with a large smile, as if the old Hobbit might poke his head around the doorway at any moment. "When _The Hobbit_ became such a smashing success, I woke up one morning _here_. Not here, specifically, but in Middle Earth. I'd arrived in Mirkwood, one of my favorite places to write about." He stopped to chuckle a bit. "Had I known I would end up there, I would have made it a bit more comfortable! It wasn't at all easy for a young man - for I was young, a good long time ago - to live by himself in a strange place. But when I bumped into my friend Gandalf here, it was mildly tolerable.

"Gandalf knew who I was right away. 'You're the Author!' he cried, and you can imagine it gave me quite a turn to be addressed as such by one of my very own characters. 'I've been sent to meet you,' and he went on to explain that there was a bit of trouble with Middle Earth. The Hobbit had been a lovely book, and it was quite a wonderful world, but there was a young lady in Pembroke who was writing a terrible version of it! For you see, all stories, published or unpublished, have an impact on the world they are involved in. Stories are the most powerful things in the world; never underestimate them. Apparently, Lucy Donahue - for that was the lady's name - was putting in the perfect character and absolutely _ruining_ my story! I had to do something," - here he glanced apologetically 'round at his captivated audience - "So I popped into her house and told her right off that she had to stop her story. She did so, thank heavens, but apparently other people got the same idea she did. So Gandalf and I developed this _wonderful_ idea.

"If we searched and searched, bringing in only the best people - the people who truly appreciate my work and my effort - they could keep my story safe! It is a little known fact that all authors are not just writers; they are the _caregivers_ for that world. Gandalf accompanied me back to my own world, and we looked and looked for someone to help protect it. It took quite a while, but we finally found a spiffing lad named Edgar who was ready and willing to help us. So he stayed here, under another name, and for a good many years kept my story safe. There wasn't much to do back then; for you see, I hadn't published _The Lord of the Rings _yet. Once I did so, there was quite a pick up in Perfect Characters - as I like to call them - and it became too much for poor old Edgar to handle. So we brought in yet another writer, this time a lovely young authoress. It was decided - Gandalf and I decided, anyway - that there would be two Authors in every story at all times; the Author, and his or her's apprentice. When the original Author was tired of protecting the story, and once his apprentice was ready, the apprentice would take over.

"And it worked wonderfully for a number of years, and then I passed away," he looked towards the heavens merrily. "And I suppose you're wondering how I got here. Well, in every story there is a 'heaven', of sorts. Mine was the Undying Lands, as you very well know. All Spiritual Realms are connected, so when I was needed, it was merely a trifle to whistle for me and bring me here. When I got to Middle Earth - I popped into Imaldris this time, (I have a natural affinity for elvish cities) - I met up with Gandalf again. Our current Authors, Patricia and Louis, had disappeared without rhyme nor reason! It was quickly discovered that the presence of a Perfect Character so powerful had simply blotted them out of existence. When we found our Perfect Character, we immediately located a number of talented authors to 'write' her out of the story. Unfortunately, the same fate befell them one by one. None of them had the strength to undertake such a massive Perfect Character. And this, my dears, is why you're here."

There was a long silence for a while, and then Isabella opened her eyes. She had been meditating as she allowed Tolkien's words to wash over her, and now she was bright and alert. "I don't understand," she said waspishly. This was a phrase she had only uttered a handful of times. "How do you 'write' a Mary Sue out of a story?"

"Oh, is that what you call them?" Tolkien said offhandedly. "Mary-Sues. Peculiar. Yes, well, the way you write a Perfect Character - or Mary Sue, if you'd prefer - is by essentially going through the story with them and keep them from changing the storyline. It's quite difficult, as you cannot, under any circumstances, repeat what any other Author or Authoress has written in the past. No phrase, sentence, quote, or paragraph can be the same. The plotline _must_ remain intact; but how your characters reach their destinations is entirely up to you. I do advise, however," - his brow furrowed and he frowned deeply - "that you do not change the wording _too _much. Many Authors have gone through their histories perfectly well by altering my original work only slightly. They find that my story is enough to ward off any minor Perfect Character. But because of the unnatural strength in this Perfect Character - or Mary Sue - I suggest that you be as original and fresh as possible. That is partly why we brought so many of you into this world."

"So, we'll be going with the Fellowship?" Madison squeaked, her frizzy hair wild and her smoky blue eyes huge. Tolkien gave one affirmative nod, and Maddie toppled off her chair again. "We're going with the Fellowship!" she squealed, still lying on the floor. Daphne looked down at her bemusedly, then turned to Tolkien with an interested expression.

"Cool. So we have to go through the entire story and keep the Mary Sue - or Adavis, I guess her name is - from changing anything. I have a question though. What happens to the Sue? Do we just kill her off, or something?" Daphne asked.

"As it is with most Perfect Characters, she must die a tragic death." Tolkien answered, blowing a lavender smoke ring towards the exposed rafters high above their heads. "Although some have found other ways, it's not nearly as effective. And you cannot simply write 'Adavis died, the end'. For one reason, it's cheap, and I simply will not allow it. Another reason is that it won't work against sophisticated Sues."

"Oh, God," Melody groaned. "Just what we need. Sophisticated Sues."

"You'd be surprised how much work goes into making Sues," Michael answered. "I mean, I see 'em every day and these people are like 'Oh, I worked hard on this, review please!' and I'm like 'flame, flame, flame'."

"You _flame_ stories?" Madison gasped. "That's _mean_!"

"Hey, Maddie, my username's Flaminator. Of _course_ I flame." Michael answered. Daphne gasped so loudly everyone looked over in surprise. Both of her hands were clamped on her mouth.

"_That's_ you're handlename? Oh, my God! You're _horrible_!" she cried. Michael shrugged.

"Some stories are really bad. And I mean, _really_ bad. Why are you so upset?" Michael asked.

"When I was just starting out, you flamed one of my stories! You made me _cry_!" Daphne said, annoyed.

She flapped a hand at him. "I deleted it, of course, and the story was insipid, but there's no reason to flame. Seriously."

Tolkien, who was looking a bit lost, shrugged. "Well, you young ones obviously wish to talk, and Gandalf and I have a meeting with Elrond that we must get to. It was charming to meet you all!" And with movements quite deft and rapid for a man his age, he strode to the door behind his character and shut it behind him with a snap.

All of them let out a breath simultaneously, unaware that they had been holding it in. Then they glanced at each other. "_Weird_!" Michael said.

"What is?" Isabella said frostily. Michael threw his hands in the air and then slapped the table.

"Everything! We're in a different world, meetin' new authors, everything! It's some deep shit, man!" Michael said. Daphne rubbed her eyes slowly.

"Okay. We need to brainstorm." she said. Melody buried her face in her hands.

"I hate brainstorming. It takes all the fun out of writing. Can't we just, you know, wing it?" Melody whined. Daphne looked irritably up at the beautiful blonde.

"No! Not when the entire world rests on our words!" Daphne snapped.

It took a moment for it to sink in fully, what Daphne said. For it was perfectly true; they were in a place where whatever they wrote could tip the balance and plummet Middle Earth into unpublished, Mary-Sue infested chaos.


	7. Breakfast And Insults

**A/N: Looooong chapter. Pushing seven pages, so enjoy! This is my very long apology for not updating; we didn't have any power thanks to Irene, so it was quite a while before I could post this. The lack of power combined with several busted windows and wet tree branches in our living room didn't help either.**

**At any rate, enjoy this chapter. And if you don't review, I shall take you out of town and finish the job! (Sorry, my youngest just watched _The Emperor's New Groove_)**

She strolled along the worn stone footpath, her bare feet making no noise on the smooth rocks. Ferns whispered at her ankles, tugging feathery fingers along the rolled-up leggings, which exposed her pale ankles. Around her, gigantic trees stretched to the heavens, the mighty boughs laden with chirruping birds that were busy welcoming the new morning. A golden sun, as satisfied and dignified as a lioness waking from its nap, was climbing the sky to settle in its usual place among the fluffy clouds. The last tinges of dawn was fading from the sky, leaving behind a hard, clear cerulean that reminded Daphne of her home state, Montana. Although she loved the roar and bustle of the big city, she missed the wide plains and open spaces, the feeling of utter freedom when faced with nothing but mountains and sky as far as her eyes could see. She skirted around the edge of a deep, black pool, pausing for a brief moment to examine the silver-orange fish that were swimming lazily near the surface, watching closely for treats. A small waterfall pummeled the far corner, sliding down from among several rocks that were creating more ripples. A boulder was centered in the middle of the pond, and a large brown turtle was sunning himself on it already. Daphne continued down the footpath, not really having a specific place to go, just desiring to see more of Imaldris. She ran a hand through her spiked hair and a smile curved her lips. The novelty of being in Middle Earth had not yet worn off, and she wanted to drink in as much of it as possible before she had to begin work.

The forest went dead still, and her guard went up immediately; she waded in among the ferns to hide behind a tree. The rough, scaly bark gritted against her soft palms as she tensed. There was something approaching, and the forest had gone suddenly, ominously quiet. All of the birds froze, and she saw the glimmer of a hare poised to dart into the underbrush, spoon-shaped ears twitching as it listened. Daphne was very close to abandoning pretense and scaling the tree when a gentle voice sounded out, right behind her and quite close to her ear. "I knew mortals were cautious, but you seem to be remarkably jumpy, Lady Daphne." said a smooth, silky voice in her ear. Daphne shrieked and nearly leapt out of her skin, whirling around and pressing her back to the tree. Her silver-green eyes were wide as dinner plates, and she wouldn't have been surprised to see her heart pulsing just beneath her borrowed tunic. When she saw who it was, her heart settled somewhat, and she clutched a hand to her throbbing heart. Lord Elrond stood before her, his dark hair pulled back in a warrior plait. His gray eyes were merry; apparently, he had wanted to frighten Daphne. There were no lines on his face, but Daphne got a feeling from him that he had seen many things he did not wish to see, and had walked many miles upon the world. Then his eyes softened, and he touched her elbow lightly. "Forgive me, Lady Daphne; I merely wished to see your reaction. Please accept my humble apologies."

Daphne waved him off distractedly. "No, no, it's fine," she panted, running her hands through her hair. Elrond observed her with interest, his gray eyes scanning her carefully. She was short, plump, with ample curves and a sweet, almost cherubic face. Her hair had been wildly teased into stiff spikes, with peculiar silvery green eyes that reminded him of willow boughs trailing in the water or frosted fir trees. A friendly smile was playing about her pink lips, but there was something very sharp and almost military about her posture. She winked at him and forged her way out of the delicate ferns, trampling her way back to the footpath. She flicked a glance behind him; Elrond had stepped between each fern, without bruising a single leaf. She felt a laugh bubbling in her throat, but with practiced ease, swallowed her grin and instead asked a question. "So do you come out here often?" she asked, trying to make it not sound like a bar pick up line. Elrond led the way down the narrow path, stepping lightly on the rocks as if he weighed nothing at all. Daphne tried; she landed hard on her toes and felt like a clumsy ballerina dancer.

"I come here often to meditate, yes," Elrond said. "And to watch the rising sun. I had been greeting her arrival when I heard you pass by." He threw a glance over his shoulder, gray eyes twinkling. "I might add, with all due respect, you do make quite a bit of noise."

Daphne shrugged. "Maybe to an elf, but to humans I thought I was being pretty quiet." A sudden thought struck her with the dull thump of a heavy book being thrown across the room. "Hey, isn't the Council being held today? I forgot about it until now!"

All of the merriment drained from Elrond's steel eyes, and his lashes lowered. "Yes, the Council is being held today. After breakfast, we shall meet on the front porch. Please make sure all of the Authors are there; it would be a terrible tragedy to lose any of them."

She looked at him curiously. "Wait a second. You're a character; how do you know who we are?" she asked, dark slender brows coming together. She worried her bottom lip, wondering if everyone in the story already knew how it played out. Elrond smiled slightly.

"I am a character, you might say," he said lightly. "But I do not know how I affect the story itself. It is imperative," - he turned suddenly sharp and cold - "that you do not reveal anything to any of the others. The story must continue, for better or for worse."

Daphne nodded once, following him through the meadows until they reached the front porch. Elegant birch boughs trailed fingers of leaves across the roof, and ivy twined up the pillars. There was a creaking noise, and Daphne saw with a little pleased start that Maddie was deep in conversation with Gandalf. The old wizard was smoking a pipe and appeared to be delighted with his flighty counterpart. Elrond's sensitive ears pricked up, as if listening, but all Daphne could hear were indistinct murmurs. Just when her ears were picking out a few words - she felt a hot prickle of surprise when she heard her name being mentioned - Gandalf looked up abruptly and smiled. "Good morning, Lady Daphne!" he greeted her fondly. His pipe was in his gnarled hand, and the smoke that hovered above the porch ceiling was turned a bright pink. Maddie was dressed in a tunic and leggings, except her tunic was sleeveless, exposing very pale, small arms. She peeped at Daphne from underneath her thick frizzy bangs, her dark-rimmed glasses slipping off the end of her nose. She looked very bright and alert, and two pink patches were seated on her cheeks.

"And the day to you, Mithrandir, Lady Madison," Elrond said with a formal nod to each. Maddie got up hastily, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist as she dropped into a fumbling curtsey. Daphne knew what she was feeling; Elrond commanded a presence of nobility and power, and he full earned the title 'lord'. Elrond, however, chuckled low in his throat and bowed politely to Madison. "I trust you slept well?" he asked considerately. Maddie bobbed her head and sat down again, cheeks flaming beneath her frizzy hair. Daphne laughed kindly, and took a seat next to Maddie.

"I slept like a rock," Daphne said. Her green eyes alighted upon the teacup, which was positioned near Maddie's elbow. It was half-full of rose-colored liquid, and judging from the extremely sweet smell, she had added at least three generous teaspoons of sugar to the tea. Elrond followed Daphne's eyes, and gestured towards the tea.

"Would you like some breakfast, Lady Daphne? We shall be long at discussions; if you wish, I shall send a tray down for the Authors and the Bookkeeper." Elrond said. Daphne nodded, and Elrond departed, making no noise over the lush grass. Daphne watched him go, and then turned to Gandalf.

"They call Tolkien the Bookkeeper?" Daphne asked interestedly. Maddie slurped her tea noisily, and then glanced at Gandalf guiltily. Gandalf stroked his beard, tugging the end of it and gazing off into the distance silently.

"That is what the elves call him," he answered. "He is Bookkeeper to the elves; The Author to the dwarves, and Caregiver to the mortal men. He goes by many names, all of them benevolent. They say even the Valar obey his every command; which would be completely accurate, considering he created them!" Gandalf seemed to think this a very good joke, and for some moments all Daphne and Madison could get out of him were more chuckles.

Madison was about to delve deeper into what the world knew about Tolkien when a burst of loud, raucous laughter echoed over the building. All three of them turned and saw Melody collapsing against the side of the porch, shrieking with laughter as she tried to keep herself upright. Michael was in the middle of a funny story, but laughter kept interrupting him. "And so, so, there's this guy - this Pakistani guy or whatever - and he's all like 'Do we take dimes?', and this other guy's like 'Yes, money is money!'." Michael and Melody roared with laughter, stumbling towards Gandalf and the girls. Melody wiped a tear from her eye and, with a final giggle, fell down into a rocking chair near Maddie. Michael took a seat next to her, looking rather smug; he had just scored major points with a 'hottie'.

"Good morning, you guys," Daphne greeted them. "What's so funny?" she asked. Michael and Melody took one look at each other and burst out laughing again, then dried up instantly when they saw the pale, slender figure of Isabella approaching. Isabella had that gift; everyone turned sober whenever she entered the room. It might have had something to do with the permanently down turned lips, the knotted brow, and those sneering blue eyes, harsh as flint and twice as sharp. She sat down a little ways away from the group, crossing her arms.

"Morning." She said bluntly. Lack of sleep did not agree with her; there were bruise-colored circles beneath her eyes and her skin - already bleached from the glow of a computer - was wan and pale. And yet she seemed to be alert and quick, her eyes never staying in one place for too long. She absorbed the facts of the room and displayed them in one short sentence. "It seems as though I'm not very welcome here, am I?" she said frostily. Madison, always the compassionate one, turned to her with her smoky blue eyes wide.

"Oh, Isabella, of course we like you!" she said, reaching out to pat her knee. Isabella pulled her leg away with a look on her face as if she had just swallowed several raw lemons. Madison recoiled as though she had touched a hot brand.

"That is not what I mean," Isabella snapped. She pointed to Michael. "Michael has the gift of wit; he can put humor into any text or situation. Every story must have humor; it's what separates books from each other." She paused, then pointed towards Madison. "Madison can describe things eloquently. Her nervous nature and self-damaging attitude can interpret love and longing perfectly, for she describes what she most wants." (Madison turned pink as a rose when she said this, but Isabella continued recklessly.) "Melody is quick on her feet and is excellent with memorization. Her interpretations of Tolkien's work and characters are nearly all spot on. And Daphne is our leader, which is undisputed. She is well rounded in all subjects, having displayed the calmest nature of all of us. Her writing is unequaled; without her, we would never be able to achieve anything." She looked 'round the group again, and this time she tapped her knee with every word for emphasis. "But I serve no purpose. I do not write well; it is not one of my abilities. I do not know why Tolkien and Gandalf selected me - or even how they selected me - and I am of the opinion they made an error. Therefore, it is for the best that you send me back."

There was a long silence, and then Gandalf blew a lovely violet smoke ring towards the clouds. It sailed away, on a journey of its own, unbroken, until it vanished from sight. "Well, Lady Isabella, that was a very well put together argument," he said smilingly. He turned to her, his beard twitching with amusement. "But really, do you expect us to believe you serve no purpose? It is perfectly obvious that you wish to return home because you are homesick and highly dislike being in a new environment; you have concocted this sleek, excellent argument that would, in any other case, be completely true. But you're forgetting one key element." He waited for someone to say 'what'.

"What?" Madison asked.

"Doesn't every story have a proof-reader of sorts?" Gandalf asked. "Really, I'm amazed you didn't think of it yourselves! All good stories have to be edited; it's what makes them good. Isabella will be your editor; her keen eyes can capture any flaws you make."

"A beta!" Melody said. "That's what you are! You're a beta!"

Isabella looked as though Melody had just called her a flying pink elephant with fluffy purple wings. "So I shall look for prepositions and misplaced nouns, run-on sentences and dangling verbs?" she said with a wry, sarcastic smile. "Lovely. Cleaning up after inferior authors who don't know the difference between 'their', 'there', and 'they're'."

Madison opened her mouth, perhaps to say that she did know the difference, when they heard a shout of laughter from the corner of the House. All heads swiveled to see who it was, and when they did, Madison shut her mouth with a snap and turned crimson.

A young elf, his blonde hair pulled behind him in a warrior plait, was strolling up the path. He wore a green tunic with leather fastenings, and dark leggings. His eyes were a sky blue, clear as glass and sparkling with merriment. A quiver of arrows was strung over his back, and sheathed on his hip was a knife with an ivory handle. A bow was crossed over his back, and even from the distance, they could see it was honey-colored, covered with elaborate designs. He was handsome, in a pale, slender way, and there seemed to be a laugh just about to spill from his lips. Beside him was a completely different man; he was tanned, with a windswept face and shaggy brown hair. He was rugged with stubble coating his cheeks, and his cloak was tattered and stained. A sword was belted to his waist, and there was a knife in his boot. His chocolate brown eyes were sharp and keen, and they glared from underneath a striking brow and straight profile. He looked wary and tense, almost as if someone was going to spring a trap on him at any moment. But he was smiling, clapping the elf on the back, and the two of them were discussing something in rapid elvish. Not for the first time, Daphne regretted that she hadn't taken those elvish courses at her community college. They would have come in handy when she was actually _in_ Middle Earth.

"Oh, my god!" Melody whispered. "It's Legolas and Aragorn!"

"No way!" Michael said, sitting upright and gazing into the distance like a wolfhound. "Aragorn is so badass!"

"Legolas is way cooler," Melody said. "Remember that shield thing, at Helm's Deep?"

"Remember just about every time Aragorn saved the Fellowship's sorry ass?" Michael retorted. "Nah, Aragorn is better."

It is quite possible they would have continued arguing over who was better until the cows came home (A phrase which here means, "Until Michael submitted") but just then, Elrond came back with a laden tray of food. In the scuffle of snatching hot muffins and steaming biscuits, the argument was forgotten. Madison was too excited to eat, and she was bouncing around on her chair as though she had just sipped helium. Legolas pounced on the porch, surveying the group with interested blue eyes. Aragorn moved with a lazy, easy grace that was deceptively calm, and he took a seat a few paces away from the group. Legolas, however, was not about to be deterred by a few seating arrangements.

"Good morning!" he cried. All of them leapt to their feet, emitting various degrees of surprise as they moved forward to formally meet the Prince. He bowed politely to the four girls (Madison looked as though she might faint). "I am Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. May I ask the acquaintance of you four lovely young ladies?"

"God, he is _such_ a flirt," Melody whispered in Daphne's ear. Fighting to keep a straight face, Daphne shook hands firmly with Legolas. Legolas seemed quite taken aback that she shook hands like a man, but he hid it well. He didn't mention that he had heard what the pretty blonde had said; his ears were quite keen and he was sure he could use the phrase to tease her later.

"I'm Daphne Anderson," Daphne said politely. "And these are my friends; Melody, Isabella, Madison, and Michael. It's great to finally meet you. We..." she trailed off. How to explain that they all knew virtually everything about him? "We're the Authors," she said. Aragorn got to his feet and came over in a flash. They both seemed either surprised or horrified.

"You are the Authors?" Aragorn asked. His voice was rough and low, with a bite of gravel in the lowest undertones. When they nodded the affirmative, his steely eyes went cold. "I knew the last Author and his Apprentice," he said sadly. "They were great leaders." He fixed them with a fierce look. "I hope you will be able to rid us of -"

Before he got any further (and before I can continue this story without any more interruptions from characters), there was the sound of someone singing. They had a beautiful singing voice, like a choir of angels coaxing songs from cherubs. Daphne fought the urge to clap her hands over her ears. The rest of the Authors seemed to be in similar situations; Michael had a look on his face like a sour lime, Madison seemed as though she were about to burst into tears, Melody was growling, and Isabella's mouth was a hard, thin line. Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas, however, turned instantly and flew to the woman with various cries of delight. They all had very stupid expressions on their faces, similar to the look on one's face if you had just had all of your cheek muscles removed. Aragorn was smiling, exposing a great deal of teeth, and so was Gandalf and Legolas. Adavis was dressed in an elaborate gown of shimmering silver that changed from gray to black to white as she moved. A necklace of sparkling diamonds hung on her neck, and her bare feet were decorated with toe rings. A dagger hung at her hip, and her hair was pulled behind her in a braid. Her silver eyes regarded the group fondly, and after brushing away Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas, she seated herself near the Authors.

"Oh, my little friends!" she cried. Out of nowhere, she pulled a harp and began to play it. Once again, a shaft of sunlight beamed down for absolutely no reason and illuminated a thousand golden dust motes that sparkled around her like tiny shards of purest diamonds. Her ebony hair was pulled behind her, shining in the sunlight and woven into a beautiful, complicated plait. Her pale cheeks were flushed the delicate pink of a sulphur rose, those dancing eyes now a glassy green. Daphne scowled at the eye-change. She despised Sues with this attribute. On most occasions, it was the forgetfulness of the author, but some other people just decided to change the color for no reason whatsoever. Daphne felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle when Adavis said 'friends'. "I trust your rest was well?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she beamed at the sunny day, perfect teeth winking like new pearls. "My friend Frodo had recovered, praise Elbereth!"

"Thanks to Adavis's unsurpassed beauty, charisma, and healing skills," Gandalf said, "Frodo has made a full recovery."

Melody snarled low in her throat. "I thought Elrond healed Frodo?" she asked loudly, unable to keep quiet any longer. This Sue was ridiculous! Adavis scowled, a frown marring her perfect features, and threw the harp. It struck Gandalf squarely between the eyes, but the old wizard went on smiling dopily as if Adavis had just given him flowers. A red welt puffed up where the harp had struck him, but Gandalf appeared not to have noticed.

"My Ada has been known to falsify rumors," Adavis said nastily. "Rest quite assured, I was the one who healed Frodo. Don't worry your pretty little heads about it." She beamed at Melody, who gave her the smile equivalent of an angry rhino.

Daphne buried her face in her hands, digging her nails into her scalp. Getting rid of this Sue would be a long, hard process. Her spiked head shot up when she heard Adavis speaking in a condescending voice to Maddie.

"Really, dear, you ought to put something on your arms. You don't really think they're tanned enough to be exposing in public, do you? And they're so _skinny_! You ought to get some more meat on your bones, dearest." Adavis said sweetly. Maddie felt hot tears prickling the corners of her eyes, and she pushed her glasses up to rub hastily at them. Adavis sat back in her chair prettily, toying with her skirt hem. Daphne was outraged; her cheeks were flaming with anger and her words tripped over each other in their haste to spill out.

"That's mean!" Daphne snapped. "More meat on her bones? At least Maddie doesn't push her breasts to her chin and flip her hair all over the place and wear a dress that makes you look like Mother Teresa at a Grateful Dead concert!"

Adavis might not have known who the Grateful Dead were, but she knew an insult when she heard one, especially if it had the word 'breasts' in it. "Well, dear, you have _plenty_ of meat on your bones. A little too much, I think," Adavis said critically, eyeing Daphne's plump figure. "You need to watch your hips, sweetie; you'll look like one of those pudgy Rohirric women who think they're shapely!"

Daphne went positively crimson with rage, and spluttered something incoherent. Michael effortlessly jumped in, his smooth, suave voice overriding Daphne's ferocious growls. "Yeah, well, I see what you mean. Daffie's a little big, but hey, some guys dig that. You know, more bounce to the ounce?" He flashed his smile, a sideways grin that hitched the corner of his mouth. Adavis seemed puzzled, and Michael moved in for the kill. "You know the sayin'? 'They don't skinny dip, they chunky dunk!' Ain't that a great one?" he laughed and slapped his knee. Daphne, who seemed equally angry that Michael was calling her chubby, was about to turn on him when she heard Adavis's musical voice masking Daphne's sentence.

"That is quite amusing. You are a charming man, Michael," Adavis said. Michael didn't flush as some men would; he merely puffed his chest out a little farther and lounged in his chair. With his spiky hair and dark complexion, he looked like some exotic panther who was immensely pleased with himself. Daphne subsided to low snarls, fisting handfuls of her leggings. She would get even with this Sue if it were the last thing she did.

09

It was only a half an hour later when most of the visitors came to the meeting, but Maddie was ready to scratch someone's eyes out right now. She had already burst into tears after a snide comment about her sleeveless shirt and "untoned" arms, and Maddie had tearfully hidden her arms inside her tunic. It would stretch the fabric, and made her look ridiculous, but she didn't want everybody from the Council of Elrond to compare Adavis's tanned, toned arms to her pale, skinny ones. Surreptitiously she pushed her glasses farther up her nose and tried to melt farther into the corner. Maddie admired Daphne more every time the blonde woman opened her mouth. She was confident, passionate, and everything Madison wanted to be. And, it so happened, everything that Maddie knew she wasn't. Chewing absently on her nails, she watched a few more elves file in, taking seats on the wide porch. All of them were amazingly handsome, with rippling hair and laughing eyes, lithe bodies and flirtatious smiles.

As the meeting began, Maddie felt her eyes beginning to droop. It was fascinating and all, but the stories were essentially the same: Chaos Is Reigning. Please Help Us. She sighed and rubbed at her eyes again, stifling a yawn behind the neck of her tunic. She wrapped her arms around her knees, tucking them into the tunic. It would look like she was wearing a shapeless pillow by the time the meeting was over, but she felt safe when she was locked in a tight position. Her mother - who was a renowned psychiatrist - said it was a symptom of low self-esteem. Maddie knew she had low self-esteem; she just didn't know how to fix it. She wasn't pretty, wasn't athletic, couldn't talk to kids her own age, didn't have friends, and didn't wear the cool clothes. So she buried herself in books and knowledge, slowly filling her mind up with facts and vocabulary, trying to make up for her lack of courage and physical attributes. She had gotten along fine without friends or heroes, or so she thought. It was just a different personality, she told herself. Some people are movers and shakers, and some people need to be moved and shaken. Madison had decided early in life to be the latter.

But now, confronted with Daphne, she saw a different kind of woman. Daphne was smart, that much was obvious; she was pretty too, in a plump sort of way. And she was strident and confident, cool and collected. She was a woman who knew exactly where she was going and why. Even her posture, a straight, firm line, said she had everything under control. Even now, thrown into a world she had only read and dreamed about, Daphne was completely serene. She had an interested look on her face as she listened to the tales of Gloin, the gray-bearded dwarf, her past squabble with Michael and Adavis forgotten. Her odd silver-green eyes were flickering between the members of the council and Elrond, who was watching them with a grave face. Maddie nibbled her lower lip and suppressed a sigh. She wanted to be like Daphne: smart, cool, confident, with the aura and presence of a natural born leader. But she just wasn't.

Madison hoped it wouldn't put Middle Earth in jeopardy.


	8. The Council Of Elrond, Sort Of

**A/N: Thanks to all of you lovely reviewers! We learn a bit about Melody, and essentially botch the Council of Elrond! Enjoy, and don't forget to REVIEW! Or I shall cast you back into the fiery chasm from whence you came! Oh, wait, wrong paragraph. Whatever.**

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><p>The morning dragged its feet, unwilling to leave. The shifting shadows sent by the thick leafy trees scattered, and the porch was tempered by a thin film of coolness from the shade. Above them, the sun burned down, beating tattoos on the dusty earth and sending heat waves from the undergrowth. The breakfast which Elrond had sent up seemed like a long time ago, and all of the Authors were getting hungry. Melody tore off another chunk of a biscuit. The biscuit was flaky, buttery, and delicious, but it was stone cold. So was her tea, which was also extremely sweet. But she nibbled on the biscuit, well aware that the Council meeting would continue on until lunchtime. She didn't know why they needed to be there; they knew what would happen anyway. The only person who still looked interested was Daphne, who was occasionally voicing sympathetic thoughts on the horrible stories the members were recalling. Even Isabella seemed drowsy and hungry; her left knuckle was in her mouth, and she seemed to be chewing on it thoughtfully as she listened. Michael was actually asleep in the corner, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Madison had been crying silently for the past hour or so, and then had pulled herself together. Now she was sitting quietly near Michael, trying to stay away from as many people as possible.<p>

When Melody got bored - which was just before the Council called the meeting to order - she allowed her mind to wander. It drifted, unfettered, and she skipped through several occasions where she had been just as bored as she was now. When she had been a little girl, her father had occasionally brought her to his business meetings, resulting in a very cranky toddler who absolutely despised listening to adults talk about things like "temporary loans" and "business settlements" and "sectional recall". Her father was one of those Wall Street accountants who spoke an entirely different language to other people. He was also a man who had very little time for his daughter. Jack meant well, but he simply had no idea how to manage his young child. His wife, a stunning blonde ex-model who retired when she met Jack, had slightly more time for her daughter, but she was just as clueless.

Jack and Chloe. Two people who had made Melody's life a living hell. They had demanded perfection; perfect grades, perfect teeth, perfect posture, perfect hair. They bought her the nicest clothes. They lived in the nicest house, complete with Olympic-sized swimming pool and built-in tennis court. Every gadget or toy which Melody wanted was given to her. But in return, they wanted a robot for a daughter. She had obeyed for several years, becoming an adorable little girl who was everyone's favorite student, friend, daughter. But when she hit her teenage years something strange had happened.

The feeling happened quite by accident, one lazy Saturday afternoon not very different from today. She had been bored, indifferent, and the hot, itchy feeling of resentment was spreading like a virus over her as she grew. Thirteen was not such an early age to start feeling rebellious, but for Melody the feeling was quite unnatural. The itchy feeling grew worse, and she wandered about the spacious mansion, poking her nose in places she knew she shouldn't be and looking at things she knew she shouldn't have. She swigged a mouthful of 'Daddy's' favorite bourbon, relishing the sizzling feeling that seared her throat and made the itchy feeling grow worse. Melody rooted through her mother's lingerie drawer, sniggering at the skimpy panties.

And then her eyes fell upon her father's safe. Lying innocuously in the corner, the red light winking at her maliciously. So the pretty thirteen year old knelt down and keyed in the code - nine four eight nine - and withdrew a sheaf of papers. To her surprise, Jack kept a thick wad of cash in his safe. Melody took the cash, and left the papers. Her father went absolutely crazy when he came home, throwing the house apart and calling the police as he looked for the $5,000. And all the while, Melody sat serenely, the thick wad of cash calling to her from under her pillow. As she grew older, her cravings grew larger. She pilfered larger sums from her father's business, perfected her lock-picking abilities, and drew together a gang to accomplish some real jobs. But a nagging little voice in the back of her mind was telling her she didn't really _need_ the money. She had everything she ever wanted. Part of her wanted to get caught, to show her father that she wasn't the adorable little girl he knew and loved, but part of her wanted it to stay a secret.

As it turned out, she didn't have a choice. She tried to break into a neighbor's house with her gang and got caught by the police. Her father tried vainly to pull strings, but Melody got three years in prison for breaking and entering, along with a hefty fine. It would have been deducted to six months, perhaps three months with parole, but one of her buddies had squealed on her. By extreme coincidence, Melody was pulled into Middle Earth the exact day her 'friend' was supposed to testify. She just hoped nobody would put her back in the real world. Melody felt a little grin settling on her pretty lips as she thought. How stupid they must look, she thought to herself. Running around looking for me.

And if it was any comfort to Melody, they did look pretty stupid trying to explain how she just 'disappeared'.

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><p>"And now, friends, we come to the real reason of this meeting. The One Ring of Power has been discovered at long last." Elrond said. There was a muffled gasp that dawned over the group, looks of shock written upon their faces. Elrond looked at Frodo, nodding. Slowly, the little Hobbit shuffled forward and placed the Ring on the table, hovering near it protectively for a split second. Then he shuddered, and released a long, slow breath. The Ring was still calling to him, but not as loudly. Frodo took a seat, settling on the edge of it as he waited to seize the Ring back in his possession.<p>

Boromir stood and paced, hands clasped behind his back, noble chin jutting out as he thought. Before he could open his mouth and voice his opinion, Adavis flew to her feet like startled birds and drew a hand across her forehead. "Oh, the Ring of Power!" she cried. "Boromir, you are not strong enough to take it. I shall carry this heavy, heavy, burden."

The young Gondorian looked perfectly happy to allow Adavis to steal the limelight, and everybody cast a relieved sigh. Daphne was furious and appalled at the ham of a Sue. "What the hell?" Daphne shouted, getting to her feet and putting her hands on her hips. "Who do you think you are? _You're_ not supposed to carry the Ring, you, you, squash-faced rat!" Daphne was positively enraged; her plump cheeks were tinted a bright pink, silvery green eyes snapping with anger, fists clenched until her knuckles went white. Adavis looked at her pityingly.

"My dear little friend, you cannot carry the Ring. Only those of immortal descent may wield it." Adavis said in her musical voice. Again, the Council nodded as if this abrupt change in history made perfect sense. Daphne nearly had a heart attack.

"That's completely bullshit!" Daphne shrieked. "_Frodo_ is supposed to be the Ring-bearer. It's in the book. You can't change it, Adavis! How dare you screw with canon, you - you -!" Daphne's vocabulary, which had never been very large to begin with, dried up completely and she settled for a canine growl. Adavis looked at her, surprised, both dark brows raised, and then burst into tears.

The entire Council turned upside down as they all rushed to comfort her. As soon as it was determined that Adavis was all right, the Dwarves turned angrily to the Authors. "How dare you talk to her that way!" they shouted. The Elves joined them, and then the voices began melting together, overlapping and underlapping until it sounded like a swarm of angry bees. And amazingly, above everything, you could hear Adavis's heartwrenching sobs and see her perfect crystalline tears cascading down her face.

"SHUT UP!"

Michael was on his feet. Instantly, everyone went quiet. His dark eyes were large and angry, his handsome features twisted in a scowl. "Enough! You guys are actin' like a bunch of five year olds!" He shouted. Silence reigned. One or two of the elves sniffed and looked down shamefacedly. Michael took a deep breath. "Yo, Adavis," he said. The girl stopped crying and looked up with a weak smile. "How about you go outside for a minute. I don't think Daphne likes you very much." He gave a look to Daphne.

"But -" Daphne began. Michael stepped on her foot. Adavis sniffed and went off, gown rippling behind her as she left. The pressure in the room noticeably eased, as though a thorn had been popped into a balloon. The Council members eased back into their seats.

"All right, I think you guys all know who we are," Michael began. "And, well, we're here to get rid of _that_." He pointed at the door Adavis had retreated through. "Now, I know it's gonna be hard. But you gotta trust us to take care of the story." he cleared his throat. "Uh, that's pretty much it."

Elrond stood. "So be it. Our lives and our story are in your capable hands."

From the background, they could hear Adavis's mournful, beautiful song. They all swallowed. Getting rid of this Sue would be harder than they thought.

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><p>Madison flopped face down on her bed, groaning. The porch had grown hot and stuffy after sitting there all morning, and Elrond had finally adjourned. Thanks to Michael's calm maneuvering, Frodo was elected to destroy the Ring. Daphne had sat fuming during lunch, shooting nasty looks over at the Sue. The food had been delicious, but apparently had gone unnoticed by the spiky-haired blonde. Madison pushed herself to her knees and wriggled over to the edge of her bed. A small, intricately carved nightstand was next to it, and she fumbled blindly for the small, polished piece of pyrite that she knew would be on there. The lump of 'pirates gold' was very special to her. But when she couldn't find it, Madison opened her eyes and looked hard. Seeing nothing, she blew her hair out of her face, adjusted her glasses, and promptly began stuffing herself underneath the bed. It was a tight fit, and she felt her glasses slipping down the end of her nose. All she saw were dust bunnies and the dusty wooden floor. She sneezed several times, and then tried to back out from underneath the bed. To her horror, she discovered something much worse than her missing pyrite.<p>

She was stuck.

"Um, guys?" she called out, voice muffled by the heavy bed above her. For one insane moment, she thought of what it would be like if the bed suddenly collapsed. Her struggles increased. "Uh, hello?" she shouted. "Anybody? Help!"

"Madison?" said a voice. There was a rap on the door. "You okay?"

"Help!"

The door swung open, and Daphne bounded in. She took one look at Madison, and then cracked up. Madison, feeling as though she wanted to cry, laugh, and swear all at once, wriggled a little more. Daphne kept laughing, leaning against the bedpost. It was just too funny, seeing Madison stuck underneath the bed like that. After her giggles had subsided, she knelt down and began working Madison out from underneath the bed. Despite Madison's occasional grunts of pain, between the two of them they managed to get Madison out from beneath the bed. Madison emerged, dust bunnies clinging to her frizzy blonde-brown hair, red faced, glasses askew. The two of them laughed again, Madison at herself, and Daphne at Madison. When they managed to become serious, Daphne turned to her and smiled. "So why were you underneath the bed, anyway?" she asked.

Madison giggled, then caught herself. "I was looking for my pyrite," she said. "I always carry it around, and I don't know what happened to it. I put it right on the nightstand last night, and it was there this morning. But now I don't know where it is. I thought maybe it fell on the floor, or something, and that's how I got stuck."

Daphne got down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed. "So you're sure its not here?" she asked. Madison nodded. Daphne got up, wiping her hands. "Well, I'll take your word for it. C'mon, maybe one of the others saw your pyrite."

They trotted down the hall, feet making hardly any noise as they traveled on the thick carpet. Looking down, Madison noticed Daphne's bare feet, the pink toes encircled by at least five silver toe rings. Daphne flashed a grin. "I see you're admiring my choice in jewelry," Daphne said with an impish grin. Madison flushed scarlet and began sputtering.

"They're extraordinary, I mean, I've never seen a toe ring before, but, I mean, they look superlative." Madison studied her newfound friend carefully. Now that she had the opportunity, she saw plenty of unusual things that she hadn't noticed before. Daphne had three earrings in each ear, and judging by the roots showing through at the base of her scalp, her bleached blonde hair had once been brown. The spiky-haired blonde fingered her earrings ruefully.

"Yeah. My father was always appalled that I could dress the way I do," Daphne said. "He and my mom were both in the military, you see, so it was kind of expected for me to behave." She offered that wicked little grin again, the kind that showed the points of her incisors. Madison was reminded briefly of a satisfied fox. "Did I mention I hate following orders?"

The two of them laughed again, and Daphne took a right hand turn into a dead end. A pair of majestic oaken doors stretched to the ceiling, and Daphne tugged hard on the brass handles. The door was surprisingly balanced, and it swung open without much weight. Daphne slipped inside, followed closely by Madison. They both gasped. The room before them was gigantic, with cathedral ceilings and colossal pillars that were inlaid with gold. Shelves, all crammed with books and scrolls, were flanking the sides of the room. Several colorful pillows had been dotted here and there, obviously meant for reading purposes. In the corner, Michael, Isabella, and Melody were all reading, sitting on pillows. Michael looked up as they approached. "Hey-hey," he said with his lightning grin. "Pull up a pillow, Daffy." he patted the ground next to him. Daphne selected a tasseled pillow and sat pointedly close to Isabella. She was still hurt by the slighting 'chunky-dunk' remark yesterday. Michael apparently didn't notice, because he buried his nose in a book again. Madison took a velvet pillow and sat down, looking around confusedly.

"So what are you guys reading?" she asked timidly. Isabella answered without looking up.

"These are all of the old stories by the former Authors. Pick out one of them and start reading. We need to do some research, see where the Authors changed things and find out what they left alone." Isabella answered curtly. Daphne selected two books at random and passed one to Madison. Together, they began reading, turning pages and inhaling the distinct, woody smell of old books.

Gandalf and Tolkien stood in the doorway, watching the five Authors work busily. They were both smoking pipes, blowing plumes of blue-gray smoke to the high ceilings. His voice deliberately low, Gandalf turned to Tolkien. "Do you think they're ready?"

There was a long pause. And then -

"I certainly hope so. My whole blasted world depends on them."

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><p><strong>AN: Question To Reviewers: Where do you think Madison's pyrite has gone? **

**(In case you don't know what pyrite is, it's a lump of shiny rock that looks like gold tinfoil. Pirates thought it was real gold, and felt pretty dumb when it turned out it wasn't. Therefore, it's also called 'false gold' or 'fool's gold'.)**


	9. Adavis Is Slightly Humbled

**A/N: Lots of laughs ahead! The Fellowship sets off!**

She checked over her supplies for the third and final time, pale slender fingers moving restlessly over the various items which she had packed into the bag the elves had thoughtfully given her. Pushing one dark strand of hair out of her eyes, she rolled her beige blanket in a tight roll, securing it with several loops of sturdy twine that would no doubt come in handy during the Quest. Her personal items weren't that large; considering she had left everything she knew behind her, she was traveling quite light. Several spare tunics, plenty of new leggings, a thick, warm cloak for cold weather, and lots of socks. She had never been hiking in her life, but if the book was anything to go by, the Fellowship would be doing a lot of walking. Isabella had never been particularly enthused about physical activities - she much preferred to spend her time beating hapless chess prodigies on the computer relentlessly. Isabella slung her bag over her shoulder, the heavy weight causing her to tilt slightly to the side, ensuring that the weight would be counterbalanced. Her crystal blue eyes flickered briefly as she gazed at the room; it was sparse, yet beautiful, with wide windows to let in solid blocks of light. A slight thread of emotion jabbed at her when she realized she might never see this room again. And then the moment passed.

She had no time for frivolities.

Isabella met Michael in the hallway. He had a relaxed, causal air about him, as if going on a life-threatening Quest with fictional characters was something he did every day of his life. His hair, as usual, was standing straight up in perfect black spikes. He was still weaving his fingers through his hair, spiking it up further still, when he caught sight of Isabella. That lightning grin flickered up the side of his face, and then it was gone again, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of self-importance. "Hey, Bella," he greeted. Her blue eyes narrowed when she took in his heavy traveling bag. It too was slung over his shoulder, but the weight didn't seem to be affecting him at all. Isabella cursed him for his lithe muscles and the ability to carry a heavy bag without buckling under the weight. Instead, she awarded him a sharp-tongued reply.

"Don't call me Bella." she snapped frostily. "I despise nicknames. They are uncouth, banal, and display a remarkable lack of respect. My name is Isabella, and I will thank you to refer to me as such."

"Yowch! Is it winter already?" Michael said, that sassy smile twitching the corner of his mouth again. "All right, _Isabella_. I've never been real big on full names. Short 'n' simple is my motto."

"And yet neither applies to you," Isabella remarked dryly. "Have you seen the others?" At Michael's shaken head, she rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Lord Elrond put us all in one building so that we may see each other on a regular basis. You have all been avoiding me, I am sure of it."

"We've been avoiding _you_?" Piped up a voice behind them. "More like _you've_ been avoiding _us_! Where have you guys been?" Turning, Michael and Isabella saw Melody and Madison making their way down the hall. "Daphne's been looking all over for you. What have you guys been doing?"

Isabella looked briefly at Madison, and then gave a sharp, warning glance to Melody. "Still haven't found your pyrite yet, Madison?" Isabella asked pointedly. At Isabella's probing glance, Melody flushed scarlet. Madison chewed her bottom lip worriedly and toyed with the hem of her sleeve.

"No...I'm beginning to think someone took it by accident. I mean, it was right on my bedside table when I left. It's so weird," Madison sighed. "I really wanted that. It's special."

"Pyrite is special?" Isabella snorted. "Hardly. It's called false gold for a reason, Madison." The bushy-haired girl looked up and shook her head, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"No, not that. I mean, it's special because of it's relevant significance," Madison said. "My father gave it to me."

Melody was fuming internally. How dare that little brat look at her so harshly! Melody had taken a few trifles from the elves, nothing they wouldn't miss, but she hadn't laid a finger on any of Madison's things. Judging by the sound of it, the pyrite wasn't really worth stealing anyway. She would have pulled Isabella aside and said several withering remarks, had not a burst of tinkling laughter interrupted all of their thoughts. Identical expressions of disgust were scrawled on their faces as Adavis came floating down the hallway, the hem of her gown trailing on the floor. Her raven-colored curls were cascading in a gentle ripple down her back, loose curls framing her face prettily, and her eyes were the color of brilliant opals. Despite Adavis's elvish senses, she couldn't hear Melody grinding her molars slowly as the Sue approached them with another silvery laugh.

"My dear little friends! How good to see you again!" Adavis cooed, waving her hand as one does at little children. She smoothed the front of her dress, dark lashes lowering modestly as they were able to take in the magnificent plum-colored dress. Deeply cut in the neckline, it gave the barest hint of ample cleavage and exposed miles of creamy shoulders and back. It was risqué without being smutty, and Melody was even more annoyed that the Sue had dressed modestly ... for a Sue, at any rate. Melody was beautiful, but even she didn't have the curves to pull off a dress like that. It would take five years of slow starvation and three lifetimes at a gym to do any decency to that gown. Adavis looked around the group. "But where is that little girl whom I so adore?"

"You mean Daphne?" Madison asked stupidly, wondering how even a Sue could refer to Daphne as a 'little girl'. "She's, um, somewhere, I think." Adavis purred coquettishly, lashes batting again, exposing her perfect cerulean eyes.

"Oh, what a shame...I sincerely wished to see her again..." Adavis flowed down the hall before them like an elegant stream, the hem of her gown trailing behind her. "She had such the most interesting insults! 'Squash-faced rat', indeed. I shall have to learn a few of them!" She giggled annoyingly again, and pushed on the ajar door to make her way outside into the sunshine.

A bucket of water had been perched precariously on the lip of the doorway, and Adavis's sudden movement sent it crashing down onto the Sue. Instantly, she was drenched with water, soaking her wet curls and sticking them to her neck, the purple silk soaking up the water like a sponge. Melody chuckled nastily. She could _hear_ the silk staining. Adavis looked utterly astonished for a moment, and then shrieked aloud, perfect scream of terror ripping through the heavens.

"THIS DRESS IS RUINED!" She squealed, burying her face in her hands. Sobs racked her slender body as she collapsed onto a bench with a wet squish. The Authors piled outside onto the patio, and they saw Daphne sitting leisurely on a chair, sipping tear. Her nose was buried in a book, and she looked up interestedly as Adavis cried.

"Oh, good morning," Daphne said absently. She turned innocently to Adavis, one eyebrow cocked. "Did you take a shower in your clothes?"

"Why, you little witch!" Adavis hissed. "You...you ruined my best dress!" Her hands snapped to claws as she snarled at Daphne, who seemed very amused.

"No, I didn't." She frowned at the bucket which was lying on the ground. "You know, Adavis, you really shouldn't leave stuff like this lying around." Daphne got up with a sigh and picked up the bucket.

"Someone could trip." Daphne winked slightly at Madison, and the girl burst into muffled laughter. Adavis was livid.

"Someone could - trip?" Adavis said in a choked voice, hands wringing an invisible neck as she mentally pretended to strangle Daphne. "How dare you - you little brat!"

"Now, Adavis," Michael said soothingly, trying in vain to stifle the laughter that was bubbling from his chest. "Daphne didn't mean nothin'. Did you, Daffy?" he asked. Daphne looked up from her seat, completely unconcerned.

"I have no idea what your talking about." Daphne said firmly. "Why Adavis wants to dump random buckets of water on herself, I have no idea."

Adavis flounced off before she did something she would later regret, like choking Daphne or something equally hideous. She left behind a trail of droplets, the stained silk gown rustling as she sped away to change. There was a long silence for one beat. Then two. And then everybody lost it. Melody was howling with laughter, holding her sides as she leaned on the balcony; Michael was slapping the table, dark eyes squinting as he roared with laughter. Maddie slid down the wall to the ground, tiny body shaking with bursts of laughter as they all laughed until they cried. Even Isabella laughed slightly, a few dry chuckles that enticed everyone to laugh harder. When it wound down to sporadic giggles, Melody looked up, wiping a tear from her eye. "Daphne, that was _genius_." Melody gasped.

Daphne's wicked grin flashed in the sunlight. "Oh, I know."

09

Tolkien checked his watch for the fourth time that morning. "Where the devil have those children got to?" he demanded of thin air. "I know they come from a different dimension and all that rot, but this is _ridiculous_." Gandalf laid a soothing hand on his arm, patting him gently. The entire Fellowship was assembled, shuffling their feet impatiently as they waited for the Authors to get here. There came another shout of laughter from around the bend, and the Authors scrambled to their places, still laughing. All of their bags were promptly loaded onto Bill, the pony, with the exception of a large leather bag which Madison carried. It held a thick book in which the Authors would write their story, along with several bottles of ink, several large quills, and a few sheets of loose paper.

"Hi!" Daphne said cheerily, her recent prank still lighting her face. "So are we ready to leave?"

"We are all assembled save for Lady Adavis," Legolas said, blue eyes narrowing with sarcasm as he answered Daphne. "We would not want to leave without her most _lovely_ presence, now would we?"

"I would love to," Melody muttered, and the Authors exploded again. "Can't we just leave her here?" Melody pleaded. Tolkien sighed deeply, pinching another wad of tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

"I'm afraid not, my dear girl. We must bring her with us for your story to work. By the way, do you have the book?" he asked. Madison patted her leather backpack with a little smile.

"Right here." She said. "Along with a few other items in which I thought might prove useful." Tolkien gave an appreciative nod.

"Excellent. You do realize that I cannot help you write your story in any way? I can tell you as much as you wish about the history of Middle Earth, and give you a bit of a story to go by, but other than that the work must be done entirely by yourself." Tolkien said. Daphne scowled.

"Dang. I was hoping you could give us some tips and stuff. After all, it's your story." Daphne said. Tolkien smiled.

"I'm afraid not. Even my story has rules." Tolkien said. Before he could get any farther, Adavis came around the corner. She had changed into a 'traveling gown' which still looked amazing on her flawless hourglass figure. Her dark hair had been pulled into a simple plait to mask the wetness, but not even her perfect beauty could hide the poisonous look she shot to Daphne. The blonde wiggled her fingers at her in a pitying way.

Tolkien stifled a chuckle. This was going to be a very amusing trip.


	10. That's MINE! Or, Overwhelm Them!

**A/N: Enjoy this new chapter! And lets play 'spot the pairing!'. There's two potential pairings in this chapter, if you read closely. **

It was a beautiful day for walking. The grass was soft and supple beneath her feet, the trees still stretching high above them. Hard, bright patches of cerulean peeked from between the boughs, which were unfurling their dainty green leaves to greet the arrival of new spring. Madison, with her clumsy feet and awkward walk, was enthused to see a neat path, covered thickly with pine needles. They had made excellent time; it was about midmorning, and the sun was blazing overhead. Despite the warmth of the contented sun, there was a decided snap to the zephyr of breeze that roughened her cheeks to a ruddy pink; winter was reluctant to leave the peaceful valley where Imaldris lay. A patch of crocuses, their golden petals pouting in perfect symmetry, entertained a small bumblebee who was checking on their progress. Maddie lingered in the dappled shade, unwilling to leave the quiet beauty. But Daphne paused, glancing over her shoulder, and beckoned. Maddie hurried to catch up, her feet tripping over each other in their haste. A good-natured smile twitched Daphne's face and settled there as she watched the bumbling teenager disentangle herself from the gorse bush she had fallen into. Madison had fallen twice since they had started out, and Daphne could only guess it was a tiny taste of Madison's clumsiness. Still, Madison's concerned nature and smoky blue eyes - which always looked slightly worried - made her very lovable.

"You trip a lot, don't you?" Melody remarked as Madison caught up with them. Madison's thick, frizzy hair was slightly disheveled, and her cheeks were blushed a delicate pink from her embarrassment and the stiff breeze. Her blue eyes dropped to the ground, and she lifted and lowered one shoulder.

"I've always been extremely inept at walking," Madison said with a sigh. "My feet don't seem to coordinate very well with my brain. Nor my hands, for that matter."

"Do you realize," Isabella said with a familiar bite to her tones, "that you speak exactly as if you came out of a Jane Austen novel? Good God, you belong in Britain."

"I've always had a passion for England," Maddie said enthusiastically, allowing the insult to skip over her head. "I keep saying I'm going to travel abroad, but I have no idea how to get the money."

"Sell firecrackers," Michael suggested wisely, and they all laughed. "Nah, I'm serious!" he insisted. "One time, me an' one of my bros, we bought five hundred bucks worth of firecrackers. Guess how much money we made that summer?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Melody rolled her eyes.

"Did you even break even?" she asked. "Somehow, I don't see you selling firecrackers very well." Michael clutched his heart and pretended to be wounded.

"Ah, you cut me deep, Melody," he said with a chuckle. "I happen to have _amazin'_ powers of persuasion."

"How much money did you make?" Daphne asked interestedly. Michael stuck his hands in his pockets at a deliberate attempt at casualness.

"Oh, we only lost about two grand," he said nonchalantly. Isabella's brow wrinkled.

"How on earth did you manage to lose more than you spent?" she asked. "And isn't selling fireworks without a license illegal in New York?"

"Now, see if someone had told me that _before_ I went an' bought 'em..." Michael said. "Anyway, me an' my buddy got slapped with a fine of five hundred bucks each." His lightning smile curled the side of his mouth for an instant. Melody felt a little warm feeling steal down her back when he smiled like that. "We got to keep the firecrackers, though."

The Authors had grouped together in a rough bunch, with Daphne in the lead and Madison bringing up the rear. However, none of them had noticed Adavis listening in. She had unraveled her hair from her braid, and it was flowing over her shoulders beautifully. Her eyes were silver once more, as though a shard of purest moonbeam had been embedded on either side of her elegant, shapely nose. Her beautiful wine colored dress swished around her pale ankles, and she brushed an dark, errant curl from her temple. All conversation between the five friends halted abruptly as Adavis sashayed between Michael and Melody, hips swaying prettily. "Oh, don't mind me," she cooed. "I adore hearing your rustic speech. It reminds me of those uncultivated Rohirric men which are so silly in their eager sentiments!"

"There's nothing wrong with Rohirric men," Madison said with a little frown. "They're noble, strong, and determined. Why don't you like them?" she asked. Adavis laughed a little, the sound like twittering cherubs among the heavens.

"Oh, the Rohirric are so quaint in their old-fashioned ways! But some of their men are positively barbaric. Why, take that young prince. Eomer, or whatever is name is."

Madison felt a little burn starting in her stomach that she couldn't quite place. She had never stood up for herself in her entire life; there was no point to, really. But she didn't like hearing other people shamed by this snotty little woman who thought she was the most graceful person in Middle Earth. Well, she _was_ the most graceful woman in Middle Earth, but she didn't have to advertise it. So it was with the help of this little burn that Madison plucked up the courage to say something. "Actually, his name is Éomer, and he's not a prince. He's the Third Marshal of Rohan. And he's a very noble man!" She said the last part very quickly, almost under her breath, but since Adavis was _conveniently_ an elf, she picked up every word. Adavis giggled annoyingly.

"Oh, a very noble man, mmm? It sounds to me as though Madison has taking a liking to Éomer, Third Marshal of Rohan. Have you ever seen him? He's a complete barbarian. Uncouth, unshaven, with long hair that's all tangled and dirty -"

"Maybe he looks like that because he's actually out _working_, not lying around preening!" Daphne said, temper rising like smoke from a pan. "And what do you know, anyway? Leave Éomer alone, will you? Can't you stop insulting people for five freakin' seconds?"

"Dear, dear, what a temper you have, darling!" Adavis sang, and her hands darted to her throat. A black leather strap encircled it, and her hand dipped down into her cleavage to withdraw a small lump of gold. "Do you see this little thing? It's been in my family for _generations_. My dear mother - bless her heart - used to tell me to put all my anger and frustration into it. Isn't it pretty?" She tilted the small lump of gold in her palm so it caught the light, and her words were drowned out in a sharp gasp.

"That's _mine_!"

Everybody stopped and looked, but Madison didn't notice them all staring at her. "That's my pyrite! It hasn't been in your family for generations!" Madison said. The slow burn had increased to a white-hot sheet of anger, and it was roiling in her stomach unpleasantly. She hated to feel angry, but she couldn't help it. "My _Dad_ gave that to me, you little thief!" Her smoky blue eyes were hard as flints, and the ghostly clouding of gray which dusted them was rapidly turning dark with anger.

"No, my dear, I believe your mistaken," Adavis cooed. "This little bauble was given to me by my poor mother. With her dying breath she bequeathed it to me -"

"That's _bull_!" Madison cried, and reached for her pyrite. "Look, right here, it has my initials scratched on it! MSP. My dad made it for me when I turned ten and he -" She cut herself off, breathing hard. She had almost said too much, almost revealed to her friends what had happened to her parents. "Give me it back!"

"Dearest, I think you need to lie down," Adavis said, trying to look serious. Her silver eyes were malicious as she stroked the pyrite. "MSP stands for _My Stunning Precious_. My father engraved those words for my mother when he proposed to her. It's quite a fascinating tale, actually."

"No, you didn't!" Madison felt ready to cry. A block of cement had lodged in her throat, and she swallowed forcefully before she could speak. "Give it back, right now. It's _mine_. I had it on my bedside table before we left Lord Elrond's house."

"Adavis, perhaps you ought to give the lady her trinket," said a sharp, smooth voice from ahead of them. Legolas was standing about thirty paces away, his blue eyes firm and unyielding. "I believe you are misled, Adavis. I saw Lady Madison playing with that very same trinket earlier." His tone grew as frosty as the Northern Mountains. "And it would be in your best interests to give it back to her."

Adavis did something very strange. She walked slowly over to Legolas, one hip at a time, eyes closed in a smoldering look. "Or maybe I should just keep it," she breathed, eyes locking with Legolas's. An unfocused look came over him, and he blinked several times.

"Or maybe you should just keep it," he mumbled, as though hypnotized by Adavis's beautiful figure and charming eyes. Then the spell broke and he turned to Madison, still annoyed. "Lady Madison, do not be ridiculous. Obviously, it belongs to Adavis. Cease your lies; you have always been jealous of Adavis's good looks."

Speechless, Madison watched as Adavis slid and arm around Legolas's waist, drawing herself closer to Legolas's firm body. Adavis gave the Author's a beautiful, terrible smile, revealing perfect white teeth. The engraved chunk of pyrite twinkled, framed by the lace of Adavis's hem.

09

Daphne nibbled on the nub of her quill, looking down at the blank expanse of snowy white paper which glistened invitingly. The Fellowship had stopped for the evening, and the Authors were sitting a little ways away from the Fellowship. Adavis had not left Legolas's side since the pyrite incident this morning, and Madison had only recently calmed down. For several hours, she had been inconsolably furious, and then she had petered out into a blank hopelessness. The idea of writing appealed to all of them, and they sat together to brainstorm and get their minds off their impossible quest. Daphne had the book in her lap, fingers skimming over the beautiful white paper. She had been disappointed to know that everything had to be handwritten, because her handwriting was terrible. "All right," she sighed. "Now, from our research, what did we find out?" She looked around the group, and Isabella - of course - was the first to speak up.

"We discovered that there is a common trait; nearly all of the previous stories have been written mainly about the Sue itself, essentially risking themselves as they wrote it. It is, of course, common knowledge that the more Sue-fictions you write, the more of a Suethor you become. Also, you could write the _Lord of the Rings_ series yourself, changing the outcome marginally." Isabella said.

"So we have to write a story about the Sue? Won't that just make her stronger?" Melody asked, chewing absently on a grass blade. "I mean, she's bad enough now." She looked sympathetically at Madison, who was still sniffling.

"It's all we can do, I think," Daphne said reluctantly. "Who has an idea?"

"I don't dig the idea of makin' Adavis stronger," Michael said, cocking an eyebrow. "So lets focus on re-writin' the _Lord of the Rings_. It started with Bilbo's party, right? Who remembers that chapter best?"

Slowly, the seeds of a bond began to flavor the relationship of the Authors as they began sketching ideas for their stories.

09

The two girls cowered in front of Saruman, fingers interlacing as the White Wizard paced furiously in front of them. "One simple Sue! How difficult can that be?" he roared at the ceiling. The girls quivered with every enraged word. "One simple, immortal, all powerful Sue. And I brought the two best Suethors through time, space, and dimensions to _make it_! And what do they give me? NOTHING!"

"It's not us!" the fat one squeaked. "He brought someone else."

Saruman whirled on the pudgy girl, who cringed, babbling apologies. "What. Did you say?" he hissed. The girls shivered at the icy tone in his voice.

"They brought more Authors here!" the skinny one whimpered. "Five of them. And they brought...well..._him_."

All went absolutely silent. Then -

"_Him_?"

"The Bookkeeper," the fat girl whispered. "We can't do anything against _him_. If he's helping the Authors, then we don't stand a chance."

Saruman stroked his beard. Then he snapped his fingers in a very showy way, setting off a miniature explosion behind him. "We shall overwhelm him," he said decisively. "I want you both to write! Pile on more Sues! I want every Sue known to mankind in that Fellowship! They won't be able to think! Hah!"

"But we just finished writing," the skinny girl complained. "It'll take all night to write so many Sues."

"WRITE!"

"Yes, sir!"

"More Sues coming up, sir!"

**A/N: Now, I never do this. I mean, I've never tried this before in my life. But I want to ask a favor of my beloved reviewers. I have a friend who is currently writing a very, very, **_**very**_** good Star Wars fanfiction. If Star Wars is your thing, I suggest you go check it out. She's very discouraged, and it would mean a lot to her if you popped off a review. Oh, and don't tell her I sent you! She'd eat me. Well, not literally. Her name is Apprentice To The Dark Side, and her story is called "A Broken Circle". So, my lovely, beloved reviewers, go forth and read!**


	11. Spiders And Catfights

**A/N: Plenty of plot development! Buckle up and Enjoy The Ride! Oh, and more Daphne/Adavis action! **

"I am going to get so fat," Madison said happily, spearing another juicy, sizzling sausage. There was something luxuriously sinful about devouring dozens of the tiny sausage patties that Sam cooked up, and she was on her fifth one. The air around them was filled with spicy, hot scents, tingling her nose as she ate another patty, which was dripping in its own grease. She was unmatched by Michael, who had eaten seventeen, and was still counting. Sam seemed delighted, Adavis seemed horrified, and Melody was duly impressed. Daphne, who had eaten at least ten, was lounging by the fire when she heard Maddie's remark. She opened one silver-green eye lazily, arching a brow and smiling a little.

"Hon, you do not know about being fat," Daphne said, patting her belly. "When you get over a hundred pounds, come to me. I swear this is the most I've seen you eat since we got here." Madison sighed, adjusting her thick glasses and licking the spot of grease from the corner of her lip.

"I'm a hundred and five pounds precisely," she complained. "I can't believe I'm so small. All of the girls at college think they're fat and they're only one twenty. Look at my wrists! I do believe I'm the smallest human being alive."

"Maddie, stop it. You're slender, that's all. And believe me, when you weight thirty pounds more, you'll wish you were back at a hundred." Daphne said. Adavis butted in with a tinkling laugh that was beginning to sound like crinkled cellophane to Daphne's ears. Madison wiggled a finger in her ears and glared at Adavis; actually, she was glaring at the sparkling chunk of pyrite hanging from around her comely neck.

"I do not know how much I weigh," Adavis said thoughtfully. "But I'm sure I don't weigh nearly as much as Lady Daphne! Do you think it right, Daphne, to be so plump?" Daphne pushed herself upright, brows darting together to form an angry grimace.

"Look, honey, I'm not plump. I was built this way, okay! Some people are skinny, and some people are big. I'm big, and I'm fine with it. I'm not going to get all wrecked about a few extra jiggles." Daphne said irritably.

Adavis opened her mouth to respond, most likely to say that Daphne had 'extra jiggles' in the wrong places, but an anguished shout cut her off. "Crebain! Crebain from Dunland!" shouted Legolas, leaping from a large gray rock. Daphne looked upwards, completely and utterly confused. Weren't Sam and Aragorn supposed to see the Crebain? However, before she could ponder this absurd turn of events, she found herself hauled roughly into the bushes and slammed flat against the ground. This, naturally, was rather uncomfortable, and she let the person holding her know this by giving him a good face full of elbow. There was a muffled hiss, and she heard Aragorn growl in her ear.

"Lie still, Lady Daphne!" He released her as soon as possible, as though her skin was embers, and Daphne wriggled to the side, spitting dirt from her mouth and glaring at Aragorn. He was lying quite still, his flat, restless gray eyes fixated on the skies above them as he lay in the dirt. A fine silver chain twinkled on his neck, and a necklace of extraordinary beauty hung slowly from his neck, revolving slightly. A spun web of crystal and wrought delicately with silver, the pendant was absolutely beautiful and completely enchanting. He was still as a stone, and Daphne tried to imitate him. He didn't even appear to be breathing. Annoyed, Daphne tried to block out the harsh cawing of the crows overhead.

Madison would have been spotted had it not been for Merry. The little Hobbit had grabbed her 'round the knees and sent her collapsing into a very prickly, uncomfortable gorse-bush, and Madison was writhing slowly, trying to get the prickles out of her neck and face. Pippin's round, anxious face peered at his cousin and Madison for what seemed like ages, and the three of them lay perfectly still, waiting for the crows to pass overhead. This was the third time this week she had fallen into a gorse bush, and she was beginning to think that Middle Earth had far too many gorse-bushes. She was a gorse-bush magnet, and it was driving her bonkers. She spat prickles from her mouth, and resisted the urge to swipe a chunk of frizzy hair from her eyes. Her glasses were dangerously close to sliding off the bridge of her nose, and she tried to turn her nose upwards, like Isabella did, to keep them from falling off. No such luck; the glasses slipped from her nose and landed on her pouting lips. She groaned. This was very, very, vexing.

Melody couldn't believe she was in this position. Michael was lying nearly on top of her, his breath heating her neck, the two of them flat against the ground, trying to look like dirt. Melody decided her blonde hair was a dead giveaway, whereas Michael's dusky skin and black hair made him slightly more...shall we say...muddy? Melody spat out a hank of her blonde hair and she felt a laugh rumble down Michael's chest at the furious look on her face. He had a rich laugh, a chocolate rasp with an undercurrent of sandy gravel, perfect for his sideways smile. They both seemed quick and friendly, and Melody couldn't help but want to make him laugh a little more. He did have such a nice laugh. She wished her laugh sounded like that. Her laugh was high and sounded a bit like a hyena when she really got going, but she decided this was a bad time to be thinking about her laugh. After all, they might be spotted by thousands of annoyed crows, and Melody had no desire to be pecked to death.

Isabella, the lucky little twit, had wedged herself underneath a slight rocky overhang. It was positively tiny, but Isabella had always been slightly built and her lack of proper food had confirmed her tiny size. She was congratulating herself on her excellent fortune when she felt something crawling down her back. Peering over her shoulder - this twisted her neck uncomfortably, but she bore it for a few seconds - she managed to catch a glimpse of whatever was perching on her back, tickling her spine. When she saw what it was, she screamed loud enough to wake the living, dying, and permanently deceased alike.

"SPIIIIDDDEEEERR!"

She shot out of her hiding spot as though she had been blasted from a cannon, hands scrabbling at her back. The thing was _huge_ - thick bristly legs, eight glittering black eyes, brown-and-yellow stripes. It was contentedly marching down her shoulder until Isabella's hands made him temporarily airborne. The crows had departed, all except the rogue feathery black windbag, and Isabella was doing a completely insane un-choreographed dance, complete with background squeals. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she clawed desperately at her back where the spider had slunk up it. She kept shrieking "SPIDERRR!" until Michael tackled her head on and shook her slightly. "Yo! Isabella! ENOUGH!"

There were a few strangled sobs, and Isabella's eyes were suddenly very wet. Everyone in the Fellowship, Authors and warriors alike, were viciously reminded how young she was. At fourteen, she was practically a child. Isabella didn't burst into tears, but several choked cries came from her as she twitched and shuddered, still pawing weakly at her back. It took a few moments of frozen silence before she was able to control herself again, and she pushed Michael away. "I-I'm okay," she stuttered, mumbling. She ground her hands into her eyes and sniffed several times. "I _hate_ spiders," she said as an explanation, breathing raggedly. "It's a thing I have. People say they're frightened of spiders - I have a phobia of them." She shuddered. "Oh, I can still feel it crawling -" she broke off, scratching at her shoulder blades frantically.

Daphne chewed her bottom lip. "Well, now we know. Don't go into small caves."

Melody was the only one who seemed unaffected by Isabella's breakdown, and instead she was climbing to her feet, dusting herself off. "Do any of you realize what's happening?" she said sharply. "She's switching verses."

All eyes swiveled to her.

"We were in book-verse when we first arrived here," Melody explained impatiently. "But now we're in movie-verse. That's the only thing I can think of that explains how quickly the Crebain found us. Everything's sped up in a movie, remember?"

The Authors were stunned. "So...the Sue is changing the verses?" Madison asked, horrified. Isabella, who had calmed sufficiently now that there was a problem to be solved, smacked herself in the forehead.

"We've been idiots!" she said sharply. "We've been looking at the _Sue_. The Sue is a symptom. Think about it: what makes Sues?"

"Uh, moronic writers with no skill whatsoever yet insist that they have superb writing skills and everyone who doesn't think so is mentally deranged?" Madison offered. Isabella snapped her fingers.

"Correct. Otherwise known as..."

"Suethors." Daphne said, mouth-hanging open. "Oh, my God. I can't believe we missed it. Our story isn't going to be any good at _all_ if we don't get rid of the Suethor."

"That's where you're mistaken," said Tolkien crisply, his British-accent a perfect backdrop for the misty landscape. "You are Authors, and not Suethors. Suethors, as you have mentioned, have no writing abilities at _all_, therefore your story will be ultimately more powerful. You just have to ... how do you Americans say it? Give it more juice."

"But we've been giving it all the juice we have," Daphne complained. "My hand hurts from writing so much. We wrote sixteen pages yesterday, and by _hand_. My handwriting looks like its been riddled with buckshot. How do you up our writing potency?"

Tolkien smiled, and it was a smile the Authors would come to realize as his I-have-an-idea-you're-not-going-to-like smile. "Why, you all have to write your own stories, of course. They have to be the same story, essentially, just told from five different points of view. You can collaborate, of course, and there can be _no_ contradictions whatsoever, but you must do it. If you don't, one story isn't going to be enough to take care of your little...problem."

"Speaking of which," Michael said, looking around. "Where is that pain in the butt, anyway?"

They found her - and Legolas - entwined behind a bush, lips locked together, Adavis's fingers tangling in Legolas's blonde hair. Even while smooching, Legolas had a slightly idiotic look on his face, as if Adavis had smacked him with a wet fish repeatedly until he suffered brain damage. Daphne almost had a fit.

"YOU LITTLE RAT!"

Adavis was yanked forcibly off Legolas, by two handfuls of her dark, glossy curls. She screeched as Daphne hauled her backwards, her anger and stocky frame lending strength to her arms. Adavis lept up, spitting mad, hair disheveled, and flung herself at Daphne. They tussled on the ground, scratching, clawing, biting, kicking. Daphne was doing all she could do to defend herself, but she just couldn't help landing a punch or two. She hadn't meant to get into a catfight, but it was so tempting when she saw Adavis shriek when Daphne raked her nails across her cheeks.

Legolas, meanwhile, was sitting on the ground, looking as though he was going to be sick. "Did I just..." he said, a sickly shade of green coloring his cheeks. Michael made a sympathetic face.

"Did you just swap spit with her?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, you kinda did."

Legolas leaned over on his elbows, and promptly lost his lunch. He emerged from the bushes looking pale and horrified. "Don't ever let me do that again," he said to Aragorn in Elvish. The ranger was struggling with a swearing, spitting, bleeding Daphne, trying to subdue the wildcat rockstar. Aragorn rolled his eyes at Legolas.

"Watch your back, mellon," he said, panting, still fighting the enraged Daphne. He jerked his chin at Adavis, who was sobbing at her broken nails and swollen left eye. "She's out to get you."


	12. New Arrivals

**A/N: Plenty for you guys to think about. But think about this one first: Madison/Eomer, or Madison/Legolas? Whichever you guys pick, the other one will be reserved for Daphne. :) So it's really Daphne/Eomer or Daphne/Legolas as well. Anyway, review and tell me everything you think about this chapter!**

It was dark out, with the yellow horned moon shedding barely enough light to see by. Barely perceptible shadows twitched and rippled, giving every appearance of warriors hiding in the undergrowth. The fire was guttering low in the shallow hole they had scraped, the cherry-red embers glowing in synchronized harmony with the fireflies. Daphne could barely move, pain throbbing dully from every bruise on her body. Adavis was, after all, the best fighter in Middle Earth, and the large bruises dotting Daphne's face, belly, and ribs bespoke of this with every heartbeat. She groaned a little and sat up, kicking herself out of the sleeping roll. It was hopeless to sleep, anyway; she would have a better chance of talking to Tolkien, who usually sat awake, by himself, off in the distance. Limping slightly - there was a bruise the size of Nebraska on her left hip - she made her way over the a smooth gray boulder a little ways off from the Fellowship. Above her, stars jeweled the velvet blue sky, each twinkling dot sparkling brightly around the curved crescent moon. They formed beautiful shapes and fantastic stories, but Daphne didn't know their legends and tales. She was too busy looking up at the sky to realize that it wasn't Tolkien sitting on the rock.

"You're up late, Lady Daphne," said a smooth, quiet voice, the tones dipped in honey and amusement. Daphne looked down with interest and saw Legolas sitting on the rock, bow in hand, one leg tucked under him and the other tapping against the ground. He, too, was watching the stars, but now he shifted his attention to Daphne. In the darkness, she couldn't see the sharp planes of his face, but she could see the curve of his jaw, his skin pale in the scant light, the curl of his lips as he smiled slightly. "Are your wounds troubling you that badly?"

"Oh, please," Daphne grumped, sitting down gingerly next to him on the rock. He moved aside slightly, so there was a respective bit of space between them, and Daphne felt a little trickle of respect. Chivalry wasn't dead after all, she decided. Instead of vocalizing this, she forced a smile and shrugged. "Who knew that little Miss Perfect could land a sucker punch like that?" she asked aloud, pointing to her black-and-blue eye. Her pouty lower lip was cracked on the side where Adavis had punched her, and her belly was littered with bruises. There was, however, the lovely feeling of complete satisfaction whenever she looked at Adavis's scratched, swollen cheeks, lined with scars of Daphne's good-length nails.

"She does let on very little," Legolas said scathingly, "and yet at the same moment I know more about her than I would have liked to know." Daphne laughed softly in the darkness, velvet shades masking her silvery laugh.

"I know! Back on our world, Sues are much better. They're just characters in books, then." Daphne shrugged. "You can always write a really nasty review, but I prefer not to." She looked up at the skies. "The stars are beautiful," she commented.

"They have been dimmed as of late," Legolas said with a deep sigh. "Darkness is veiling Middle Earth." He looked at her, her wounds, her silver-green eyes, now slanted as she looked at the bright stars. "Much rests on your shoulders, Lady Daphne."

"Tell me about it," Daphne sighed. "All of a sudden I'm yanked out of my own world and thrown into my favorite book. I still can't wrap my head around it. And now I have to save the world." She rubbed her eyes gingerly, trying to apply minimal pressure to her blackened eye. "Isn't there some kind of law that says I have to had three days notice before I get kicked into another dimension?"

"I have a feeling Sauron does not follow the rules," Legolas said quietly. "We all have a great task set before us. We must work together to achieve harmony; not just for us, but for all of Middle Earth."

"It's going to be harder for you, you know," Daphne warned him, looking straight ahead. "Your character...I mean, you're really influenced by Sues. I'm sorry, but you seem more easily taken in than the rest of them. I mean, Gimli is hardly ever affected by them. But you and Aragorn are the worst, although sometimes Boromir gets thrown into the mess as well."

"I realize I am in danger," Legolas said, eyes lowered. "But I have complete faith in all Authors. I have...I mean, I owe much to one of them." he actually blushed as he said this and rubbed his nose self consciously. Daphne looked at him interestedly.

"What do you mean?" she asked curiously. Legolas felt a smile quirk his lips.

"Her name was Felicity. She was...an interesting Author. We spent quite a bit of time together before she was..." he cleared his throat. "Before Adavis overpowered her."

Daphne felt an icy trickle of fear slide down her spine. "What does it..." she paused and tried to shift the block of concrete that was taking permanent residence in her throat. "Does it hurt? I mean, to be overwhelmed by a Sue?"

"It depends on how far an Author is along in their book," Legolas said quietly. "The more you write, the deeper you become immersed in the web of magic surrounding Middle Earth. If you are nearly done, yes, the Bookkeeper says it would be quite painful. I can only thank the Valar that Felicity was not even halfway finished with her story." He sighed. "I do wonder sometimes if I did love her," he said the last few words very quietly, under his breath, and Daphne was barely able to catch them. "She was the most beautiful girl." He rubbed his nose again. "That is why you _must_ get rid of Adavis, Daphne! For...for their sake. For her sake."

Daphne sat still for a long moment, allowing Legolas's words to wash over her like a cooling wave. He had an excellent point, and she would mull over it later. She was actually beginning to feel sleepy now; his hypnotic voice had taken the edge off her weariness. She yawned, stifling it with the back of her wrist. Daphne stretched and was about to get off the rock when she felt an iron hard hand grip her wrist and a cold blade press against her throat.

"Move, and you die." Hissed a voice in her ear. "Now, get off the rock. Slowly, mind."

Legolas seemed to be in a similar position, and Daphne was amazed that they had managed to sneak up on an elf. Even if he had been talking, he would have heard them. Slowly, Daphne stood up and faced her attacked, eyebrow cocked and her fists clenched. She was prepared to shriek her lungs out and then make a run for it, but as if reading her thoughts her attacker waved the glinting silver knife threateningly.

"Don't even think about it," the person said, the voice decidedly high and light, like dappled shade rippling over still waters.

"Who are you?" Daphne asked candidly, not particularly afraid. The figure before her was only a bit taller than her, and a lot skinnier. She was confident that she could rugby-tackle her before there was too much trouble. The attacker threw back her hood, blonde hair spilling onto her flushed cheeks, glittering green eyes bright and hard. Her cloak was velvety blue, melting into the fabric of the night. She was amazingly beautiful, with high, angular cheekbones and small, rosebud lips.

"I am Vanima," she snapped. "And there is no time for pleasantries. Wake your friends. We have much to talk about."

09

Madison rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, digging into her cheeks as she yawned. Everybody was awake in the middle of the night, and she had no idea why. Everybody was milling around, talking in low murmurs, and Madison wondered if something had come through and frightened Legolas or Aragorn. The last threads of a dream disappeared from her memory - all she could remember was a handsome blonde elf who had rescued her from ... something. Madison would have pondered this further, except there were suddenly three new figures before them. Adavis let out a shriek of delight and threw herself at the nearest one.

"My lovely Ethwein! How do you fare?" she said shrilly, trying to hide her scarred cheeks. A crimson hood was pulled slowly backwards to reveal a hauntingly beautiful face, so achingly beautiful it hurt to look upon her. Sad blue eyes, filled with melancholy tears, were framed by thick, dark lashes. Black hair, blacker than the soot of a ruined temple, framed her face in straight, thick locks. There was so much pain in her eyes that Madison felt her own eyes brim with tears just looking at them. The amazingly beautiful woman did not react to Adavis's demonstrative hug, other than to say in a low, mellow voice,

"Adavis. How good to see you again." She turned Adavis's scratched cheeks with one slim, elegant finger. "You have suffered almost as much as I, Adavis."

A slender blonde woman who was holding a knife gestured at the sallow-skinned morose model-looking girl. "This is Ethwein. She had suffered much. At the age of eight she was terrorized and molested by her brother, and at the age of ten she was imprisoned by her uncle. Her father forced her to marry a wicked old man who beat her with large leather whips at every opportunity. And now she is among us, broken in spirit and beautiful in features."

"That sounds completely improbable," Isabella snapped. "How much misfortune could one person suffer? And I would have done something about it - if she was suffering that much, why not kill them in their sleep? It's completely ridiculous!"

The dark-haired woman pulled back her sleeve melodramatically, revealing deep white scars along her wrists. Isabella was completely unaffected. "Oh, so you decided to cut yourself?" she snapped. "How very wise of you. I wish to bask in your wisdom, oh great and stupid Sue."

"Oh my God!" Daphne said aloud, mouth slightly open. "They're Sues! They're all Sues!"

The blonde haired woman continued, completely unaffected. "I am Vanima, Queen of the Forest. I carry noble blood in my veins. I can wield any weapon, speak to any animal, and I am at your utter service." She bowed low, exchanging glances with Aragorn, a comely smile passing over her lips as she appraised him. She continued prettily, keeping her eyes on Aragorn, who looked decidedly nervous. She gestured toward a figure clad in emerald green robes.

"This is Quilemna, my deepest and best friend. At a very young age, she was pledged to be married to a young man of Gondor, but she followed her heart and married the peasant whom she loved. After her father cast her away, her husband died tragically, leaving a rebellious and enraged woman." An emerald hood was pulled back to reveal fiery red hair and striking brown eyes, harsh and cryptic. Dozens of knives were belted to her waist, each point gleaming bitterly in the scant moonlight.

"Why do you carry so many knives?" Melody asked, a sneer on her lips. There was a growl of rage, and the redhead threw herself at Melody, pinning her to the ground. In the flicker of an eyelash, one of the numerous knives was in her hand and pressed against Melody's throat.

"How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!" she said savagely. "I should cut your miserable throat out for such insubordination! Do you know whom you are speaking with? I am Quilemna, daughter of Elrond and a poor mortal soul. My mother died swiftly after bearing me. Do you know what its like growing up without a mother, stupid girl?"

Melody kicked her knee upwards, rolling over and squatting firmly on the Sue's chest. She flipped her bangs out of her honey-brown eyes and glanced at Daphne, complete bewilderment on her face. "Exactly how many kids does Elrond have?" she spluttered. "To hear them tell it, he went around sleeping with every available mortal there is. And since when would Elrond force his daughter to marry someone from Gondor?"

The redheaded Sue got up, dusting herself off. The knife was still in her hand. "Watch yourself, girl. I carry these knives to cut the throats of people who displease me."

Melody was helped to her feet by Michael. "Touchy, touchy," she grumbled. The blonde woman in the dark blue cloak clapped her hands twice.

"And now, we bring a gift to the most beautiful, the most talented, the most amazing warrior ever in Middle Earth. Lady Adavis, this is for you." She stepped aside dramatically and pointed to the bushes.

Nothing happened.

"Ahem...This is for you!"

Still nothing.

"Shonji, get your miserable furry tail out here!"

There was a rustling in the undergrowth and a gigantic purple tiger stalked lazily out, thick white whiskers twitching contentedly. Gleaming white teeth were bared to the Fellowship, who ooo'ed and ahh'ed appropriately. He was the size of a horse, with icy blue eyes and black stripes coating his heavily muscled frame. He scanned the group, padding silently on thickly furred paws. He yawned, and then everyone heard him in their minds. The tiger did not speak, but they could all hear him. _What a frightful bore. I would much rather be at home eating my shrubberies._

Madison giggled. Shonji turned his massive head towards her and offered her a catlike smile, accompanied by a swish of his tail. _Do you find it amusing, little human? Yes, I do not eat meat - I am a complete vegetarian. And who might you be?_

"Enough! Shonji, Adavis is now your mistress. Protect her with your life." Vanima said. If purple tigers could look disgusted, Shonji would be looking like that now

_Do I have to?_

"Yes!"

A sigh.

_Very well._

Shonji padded over to Adavis and nuzzled her hand, licking the pale digits with his rasp cats' tongue. Adavis giggled and stroked his neck, pawing the rippling tapestry of raw power and hearty sinew, smiling her perfect Sue smile. Easily, she swung herself atop his broad back and he arched, muscles flexing, and let out a roar that shook the bowels of the earth. Michael clapped his hands over his ears and whistled appreciatively. "Very nice," he said, lightning grin flicking up his face with a blink and vanishing again. "Very nice. Adavis, babe, you got yourself a nice lookin' kitty right there."

_Kitty!_

"All right, _tiger_. Happy?" Michael stifled a laugh. Shonji twitched his whiskers.

_Yes._

Madison yawned sleepily, stifling it against her wrist. Legolas was not fooled. "I believe our guests need sleeping rolls," he sighed. "And then we should all rest. It will be dawn before soon."

The Authors couldn't help but wonder what other terrors - or Sues - would be arriving in the morning.


	13. The Watcher Watches Wetly Wearing White

**A/N: If you like this story, you'll LOVE mo and rockey's story. She actually used me as an example…YAY! An excellent Sue-bashing parody is "Sue Me", by mo and rockey. Go check it out. That's a suggestion, though.**

**And go look at "Jennifer Smith: The New Girl In Town", by crazytubesockmonkee. That's my daughter, Alex's fiction. It's actually pretty good, even though she only has one chapter up right now. And that, dear readers, is an **_**order**_**. Be nice to my daughter! ****J**

"They never show this in the movies," Melody grumbled as she scooted down into the valley on her butt. Sure, they showed the Fellowship sitting around picking their noses while Gandalf tried to hack into Moria, but getting _into_ that particular valley was harder than she had thought. They had been hiking all day, and now the moon was well overhead, and they still hadn't eaten anything. The most vocal member of the Authors was Daphne, who had been complaining loudly and not very subtly suggesting they stop for a moment, have something to eat, and press on in the morning. Melody scooted down a few more inches. The only way into the valley was a tiny, winding path that crept along the side until it dropped off, for no reason whatsoever, into a steep slide of rubble and dirt. Legolas, naturally, had merely jumped down in a few long bounds, and Aragorn didn't seem to have any trouble either. Michael, Melody saw, was in a similar predicament, although he was mostly hampered by that stupid redheaded Sue, whatever her unpronounceable name was. The Sue was breathing down his neck, cooing something into his ear. He waved her off disgustedly. This action sent a little shiver of warmth into Melody's stomach.

Daphne was swearing like a sailor under her breath, muttering about starved authors, wasting away, and generally how hungry she was. Daphne became very irritable if she didn't eat regularly, as you might have guessed. Behind her, Madison was practically in tears - again - because Adavis was criticizing her crawling method. Adavis hadn't had a problem; Shonji had bounded down the rocky slope easily, powerful muscles flexing and rippling as he sat contentedly at the foot of the slope. Now he was washing his whiskers with traditional feline cleanliness, pausing every so often to rub a damp paw down his sleek purple coat. Daphne snarled to herself. "Adavis, shut _up_," she hissed. "Just shut up. If you want Madison to slide down differently, get your pretty butt out here and demonstrate."

Adavis laughed prettily. "Dear Daphne, there is a danger of ripping my dress if I try such obscenities. So I shall stay here and coach little Madison on her crawling techniques. Madison darling, try to put more weight on your hands."

"I can't," Madison sniffled. "It hurts. And I ache. And these - stupid - rocks are cutting into my - palms!" she jounced and rolled the last few feet until she was sitting at the bottom of the slope. She got to her feet, dusting herself off, and patted Shonji absently on the muzzle. The purple tiger growled appreciatively.

Daphne rolled to a stop, and then lay there for a few seconds. Tolkien was off in the distance, smoking a pipe and discussing something with Gandalf in a low, serious tone. Michael was helping Melody down the slope - for a second, she felt a little pang. They were really cute together. Her thoughts flew like startled birds when she heard a deep, familiar voice off to her left. "Lady Daphne, do you require assistance?" To her surprise, Boromir was offering her a hand up. Her eyebrows raised, but she accepted his hand. His grip was hard and his calluses rasped over her small hands. To the best of her knowledge, this was the first time he had spoken to her.

"Thanks," she said, dusting herself off. Prickled goosebumps had risen on her arms when he brought her to her feet. She patted him on the shoulder and went over to see Sam about getting some of those tasty sausages. Boromir watched her go, brow furrowing, and then turned to Aragorn. Melody dusted off her hands and swore, very loudly and very explicitly, in front of Merry and Pippin, who quaked.

"That is the very last time I climb down a rocky slope in Middle Earth," Melody said sharply. "Michael, lets write a story about how every road we walk on is _flat_."

The Sues were talking in low, conspiratorial whispers, but stopped when Isabella approached them. "Evening," the sallow-skinned girl said. "I just wanted to see something for a moment." The Sues looked at her quizzically as Isabella studied them, honing in on their dirty clothes and slightly mussed hair. She inclined her head slightly. "Thank you, that's all I wanted to know."

Isabella marched over to the Authors, all of whom were sitting around in a rough semi-circle and nursing their bruised bodies and skinned hands. "We're making progress," she said triumphantly, a tilted smile twitching her lips confidently. Daphne quirked an eyebrow. "They had to climb down the slope as well," Isabella said, as though it should be obvious. "Quick, how far along are you in your stories?"

Madison reported that she had reached the journey to Weathertop, Michael said he had just begun the battle with the Ringwraiths, and Daphne muttered that she was still at Bree. Melody shrugged. "I'm at the Council of Elrond," she said idly. They all gawped at her. "What? I'm a fast writer."

"My hand gets hurt too easily," Daphne said with a sigh. "I hate writing by hand. But Isabella, what does it matter?"

Isabella leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. "Look at them. They're _weakening_. The Sues aren't as strong. They had to get dirty, they had to sweat, they had to bruise. They're no longer perfection. Well, all except for Adavis."

"That's great," Michael said, "'Cept for one thing. _Adavis_ is the one we're supposed to be killin', right? Who cares if some stupid Sues get a little sweaty? Adavis ain't sweatin'. We need to concentrate on her first."

"You're only as strong as your weakest link." Isabella retorted. (Unconsciously, all their eyes flicked to Madison for a brief instant). "Hone in on the other Sues, write them out of the story _first_. And then we concentrate on Adavis."

"All right, all right," Daphne said. "That's great. It's working. We're amazing. Now can we get something to eat?" She massaged her stomach and her brows furrowed.

"I do believe you ought to feed the muses," a familiar British voice said behind them, sparked with a note of amusement. "As I think you recall, we're going to be here for a while. Sam is frying some sausages, and they should be ready in a bit."

"Awesome," Daphne breathed, flopping on her back. Tolkien eyed her with amusement, and then flicked his fingers.

"Let me see your books," he ordered, and Madison dug through her bag and withdrew the five slender books. They had to write small, otherwise they would run out of paper before they reached Lothlorien. Originally, they had planned to compile everything in one large book, but when they were all writing their own story, it was a good deal harder. Tolkien pursued the texts cryptically, running a crooked finger down Daphne's uneven lines, Madison's curling cursive, Melody's typewriter-style printing, Michael's unruly scrawl, and Isabella's rounded lettering. A smile curved his mouth. "Excellent. Superb, in fact. Not the slightest contradiction."

The Authors all breathed a sigh of relief as they took back their books. Being approved by Tolkien, one of the greatest literary masters, was one of the highest praises they could get. They probably would have asked him what he thought about their individual books, but there was a distant call from Sam, announcing that dinner was ready. Daphne grabbed her book and bolted to the delicious frying sausages before any of them could stir a muscle. They laughed. "Don't get between Daphne and a hot meal," Melody laughed. Together, the Authors gathered around the small, guttering fire. Madison blushed to the roots of her frizzy blonde-brown hair when Legolas offhandedly gave her a plate of sausages. Bewildered, the elf continued his conversation with Aragorn, leaving Madison with her sausages and her muted fangirly squeals.

Isabella was perhaps the only person who noticed the pairings so far. His sharp, cutting blue eyes missed nothing - she knew Aragorn missed Arwen enough to distract him for several hours at a time, she knew that Legolas's mother had died, and she knew that Boromir wanted to start a family when he got back to Gondor. All she had to do was listen and wait, watch and deduce. It was silly, really; they didn't appear to see her, considering she was only a child, and they didn't seem to think she could interpret what they were talking about. By herself, Isabella was slowly teaching Elvish to herself, trying to fumble her way around the elegant language. And because of her sharp, caustic idealisms and uncanny deductions, she saw the beginnings of Madison's crush on Legolas, knew that Michael liked Melody and was denying it, and there might have been a flicker of a spark between Daphne and Boromir when he helped her up today. There was enough material here to keep her interested for several hours, and Isabella found a quiet place to sit and think. Thinking was what she did best, and she pondered their situation as the rest of the Authors interacted with the Fellowship. Now, watching them from a slight distance, it was easier to see - Boromir's hand connected with Daphne's twice when they reached for more sausages, and the Gondorian man was the only one affected by these chance encounters. Daphne seemed blissfully unaware. Michael and Melody's knees were touching, and within five minutes of the meal he had his arm casually resting across her shoulders. Melody allowed it to remain there, signaling her own affections. Isabella laughed quietly.

Gandalf and the Hobbits, meanwhile, were trying to force the door into existence. Isabella reined in the temptation to just say the password, and watch their surprise, but she contented herself with practicing her Elvish. Merry and Pippin soon became bored with watching Gandalf mutter spells, and began throwing rocks into the water. Ripples stroked the surface of the greasy lake which dominated the valley, some of their rocks coming dangerously near a soggy tree, twisted, rotting branches clawing at the sky. Again, Isabella turned off her temptation by muttering more Elvish to herself, trying to master the language. She was trying to pronounce _arauka_ correctly when she heard a jubilant cry from the doorway.

"We found it!" Daphne said, cheerful now that she had eaten. A beautiful arched doorway was shimmering between the cleft of two twisted trees. A cloudy curtain had been pulled from the sky, and the full moon shot down fingers of silvery moonlight which illuminated the graceful white doorway. Scrolling symbols and iridescent runes sprinkled the arches of the door, the stunning white pillars carved into the rock. Isabella got to her feet and came over, seeing four similar expressions of frustration as Gandalf began mumbling spells. "Pity we can't help," Daphne added in an undertone.

"You are not to say the password," Tolkien reminded them curtly. "Let the story play out." The Authors shuffled their feet miserably, twiddling their thumbs as they waited for Gandalf to hit upon the right password.

09

It took roughly two hours for Gandalf to come even remotely near the password, and by then Daphne was asleep. Melody was curled, catlike, near Adavis, and Michael was leaning against a rock, trying to look cool while sleeping. The only person awake was Madison, who was bored silly and wished for something interesting to happen. Isabella twitched in her sleep, snoring lightly. Madison smiled. Who knew the little snotty girl could snore? She scuffed her feet against the rocky ground and watched interestedly as Boromir draped his outer cloak over Daphne. The spiky-haired blonde didn't wake, but instead turned over and snuggled underneath it, wrapping herself in the thick cloak. Madison pondered this. Boromir was going to die. If they fell in love, Daphne would be sad. That would suck. This was the extent of Madison's romantic thoughts, because something far more interesting happened.

"What's the Elvish word for friend?" Frodo asked, face lighting up. Gandalf looked at him curiously, and then Tolkien, Legolas, and Gandalf all answered simultaneously.

"_Mellon_," they answered. There was a groaning of stone, granite scraping against rock, the knuckles cracking of some enormous giant, and a slab moved aside, the glowing doorway sliding slowly, opening a black chasm in the insurmountable wall. There were various murmurs of delight, and in the hubbub Quilemna "accidentally" kicked Daphne roughly in the head. Daphne shot awake with a yowl, springing to her feet and preparing herself for another cat fight. Luckily, Michael got in the way.

"Yo, Quilemna, c'mon, let's go," he said, hurrying her away from the furious Daphne. The redhead preened and melded into his arms, sticking like glue, and Michael made a face at her. Daphne sighed and plucked at the fur-trimmed cape, wondering how Boromir had managed to throw his cloak over her. Shrugging, she folded it and handed it back to him, paying him very little attention as she waited for The Watcher.

The ripples where Merry and Pippin had thrown the rocks had not ceased - they increased, splashing lightly against the shores. The Fellowship filed inside the mines, cramped in the small entryway, and the stench hit them. Madison lost her dinner right then and there, falling to her knees as the overwhelming smell of death and decay rose in their throats. The Authors were all in similar states of disgust, and the Fellowship was backing out, Boromir's voice ringing over them. "This isn't a mine! This is a tomb! Out, everyone out!" Daphne felt herself pushed from behind by a frightened Ethwein, who promptly trampled the blonde as they rushed out the door. Spitting mad, Daphne felt herself hauled to her feet and shoved out the door by someone behind her.

Frodo screamed to the stars above as a powerful, slimy tentacle clenched his ankle and dragged him into the water. Boromir and Aragorn wasted no time, swords flashing and slicing through the water. The thick tentacle was severed, and Frodo scrambled from the water, but not before a dozen more shot out in all directions. Daphne felt the ghost of a tentacle snaking around her waist and she leapt backwards. Once more, Frodo was seized, this time dragged through the icy cold, stagnant depths, out of the Fellowship's reach. A gigantic, blind snout emerged, maw gaping wide, sightless white eyes rolling frantically in its frenzy, black teeth razor sharp. Frodo was held aloft, high above the mouth, prepared to be dropped into the rows of rotted black fangs. Melody shrieked for everything good and blessed as she was plunged beneath the waves, scrambling furiously with the tentacle as slippery bubbles scurried to the surface of the water. Aragorn and Boromir were hacking and plunging, Legolas's bow was firing, but Frodo was still being dangled above the mouth.

Then the Sues jumped into the fray, weapons unearthing from scabbards and sheaths. The balance rapidly shifted, and Frodo was hauled, dripping, onto the bank, his face pale and cold, chest hardly stirring. But Melody was nowhere to be seen. Michael hardly waited to strip off his leather jacket - he threw himself into the water with the splashing Watcher, furiously intent on finding his friend. He dove through the waters, and caught a glimpse of long blonde hair. Her struggles were slowing, and her muscles were relaxing. She was hardly aware when Michael wrenched her from The Watcher's grip and brought her on the banks.

There was a hot mouth on hers when Melody awoke, and the first thing she saw was Michael's worried face. Someone was slapping her cheeks sharply, breathing air into her lungs. She rolled over and coughed up a good foot of water from her lungs, yellowed water dripping from her lips as she swore. She realized she was inside Moria, and there was absolutely no light except an odd, bluish crystal that was clamped in Gandalf's staff. She got to her feet slowly, leaning against the wall for support. Sound hit her: "-okay?"

"What?" she mumbled, dragging a sleeve across her mouth. Michael supported her slightly, pulling her away from the wall.

"I said, are you okay?" he repeated.

"Just peachy," she spat, the combed her wet blonde hair from her eyes. She noticed they were all standing stock still, Madison close to Legolas's comforting presence, waiting for her to say something. "Well?" she snapped impatiently. "Let's get going!"


	14. Random Conversations

**A/N: Just some random conversations. Basically the biggest filler chapter known to mankind.**

Perhaps out of habit or out of duty, the Authors and the Fellowship respected boundaries. They each had their own mission, their own quest, and their own personal thoughts. Moria changed all that. It could have been the oppressive silence, the odd, eerie, ghostly twitters of creatures skulking in the darkness, or the far-off dripping of some unseen water into an invisible stagnant pond. But later, when everything was finished and their scars – both physical and mental – were healing, they ultimately decided it was the narrowness of the path. It allowed only two to pass at a time, sometimes into gaspingly tight conclaves, other times up dizzyingly high stairs that required both hands and feet. So they paired off, their subconscious picking the partner they wanted the most. Michael, obviously to everyone by himself, chose Melody, and Daphne permitted Boromir to accompany her through the ghoulish mines. Frodo and Sam, naturally, went together, as did Merry and Pippin. Aragorn and Gandalf led the way, discussing things in low, serious whispers, while Gimli was stuck with the ever-logical Isabella. The Sues gathered into a twittering group, and nobody really cared what they did. Shonji, to his credit, did try his best to stay with the Fellowship, but Adavis kept him well ahead of the rest of them. Nobody quite knew where Tolkien went – he had an uncanny ability to appear one place while melting into the shadows in the next instant. For the most part he stayed by himself, although he seemed to favor Madison's and Daphne's company. So the first day of Moria was passed in quiet conversation, learning more about their partners as they continued up the uneven, jagged precipices and down rocky, unstable cliffs.

Daphne was learning things about Boromir that had never come across in the books or the movies. For one thing, he didn't say much; he just listened. Daphne had been talking for the past two hours nonstop about absolute ridiculous things, and then realized he hadn't said a word. However, there was a little smile underneath the scruff of his beard. Daphne paused, her mouth hanging open, as she replayed the last fifteen minutes of their conversation. To the best of her knowledge, she had been rattling her teeth about how much she hated liver and how much she liked corn on the cob. Boromir looked at her quizzically as they hauled themselves upwards on a particularly tricky bit of staircase. "Is something wrong, Lady Daphne?" he asked. Daphne shook her head and laughed a little.

"I just realized I'm talking about absolute nonsense," she laughed. "Are you getting any of this, or is this just going over your head?"

"I quite enjoyed your explanations of NASCAR," he admitted, "But I am not understanding most of it, you are quite correct. Do not stop, though," he added hastily. "I enjoy your ramblings."

"Well, you're the first then," Daphne said with a smile. She had on that curious smile of hers, the way it exposed her canines and made her whole face look slightly feral. It was when she was pleased or feeling particularly wicked, but she didn't smile it often. The Authors were much more acquainted with her smooth, wide smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "My parents thought I was nuts," she added, her eyes going a little blank at the thought of them. She didn't look sad, just a little regretful.

"Your parents?" Boromir asked cautiously. He knew, better than she would have imagined, how difficult it was to have a family who was constantly at odds. Daphne didn't seem very chaffed to talk about her parents; actually, she was surprisingly receptive to the idea.

"Yeah. My parents were both in the military – both Marines, so you know how that is." She smiled, almost to herself. "Everything was very strict when I was a kid. Oh, I had an okay childhood – I got wicked fit, because my Dad used to use training regimes whenever my brother and I messed up. But when I got to college age, I don't know. Things changed. Mom wanted be to be something important, like a bank president or a governor or something, and Dad thought I should go to the military." She sighed, twisting her lips to the side. "I didn't go with either. I got sick of all the fighting. It's like they wanted to control my whole life. I couldn't stand it, so I just moved out."

"What did you want to do?" Boromir asked quietly. "Seeing as you didn't want to be a governor." He couldn't imagine a kind of family that wanted to push their daughter (their rather attractive daughter, he thought to himself) into the military. Wars were no place for women. Her father must have been worse than his own.

"Have a family," Daphne said seriously. "I always wanted to have kids, you know. Settle down, eventually." She laughed a little, a little bit of pushed air between the gap in her teeth. "I just never got around to it. I suppose it kept slipping my mind."

Boromir would have dived eagerly into this gap that she opened, wanted to see what she thought about families, but there was a burst of ringing laughter behind them. Daphne paused as she climbed, hunkering down on her haunches as she waited for Melody and Michael to pull themselves upwards. Melody was laughing about something – her face crinkled when she laughed, making her look less pretty and less conniving, but then it was gone as she listened to Michael with a little smile on her face. Daphne watched Boromir help them onto the path again, noticed unconsciously how gentle he was with Melody, despite her feminist attitude. She brushed aside these thoughts like brushing away a scattering of snow on a mitten.

Madison was having trouble keeping up with Legolas, but she was fascinated by the way he moved. Fluid and graceful, never pausing as he climbed, never breaking a sweat. Madison was relieved when they reached a leveling in the path, and for the first time, Legolas spoke. He had been watching her, watching her struggle gamely to keep up with him. She didn't complain – he was surprised at that. Little Maddie, as Daphne called her, had a lot more stamina to her than he had originally thought. But she was sweating and breathing rather hard, and he slowed his pace instantly. "Forgive me," he said, breaking the wall of silence that had welled up between them. "I have been going faster than I intended. I occasionally forget where I am."

"Back in Mirkwood, huh?" Madison asked, a queer twisted smile on her mouth. Legolas started slightly.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I try to imagine I am back in Mirkwood when I feel troubled. It is a restful place, when you grow up there."

Madison nodded once, that little smile hiding by the corner of her mouth. "Funny, because the way Tolkien described it, the place sounded pretty uncomfortable."

"You do not know Mirkwood," Legolas said instantly. "There is dark beauty, as well as light beauty. Mirkwood has both – the trees are dark, and the sunlight is shy, but together they make a beautiful creation." _Much like you_, Legolas thought unexpectedly. He was completely confused at the thought. Where had that come from? Something he had read, no doubt.

"I guess. It must be nice, living in a place like that." Madison said, sighing inwardly. She couldn't provoke the prince into a conversation no matter how she tried. She had never been good at talking to people, and even _looking _at Legolas was making her nervous. Legolas slanted his gaze at her, employing the Elvish trick of looking while not looking. Her frizzy hair was even frizzier in the heat of the mines, thick glasses settled on the bridge of her nose, shielding those remarkable eyes. She really did have striking eyes, he decided. They were the deepest cerulean, rimmed with a gauzy layer of ghostly silver at the pupils, fringed with beautiful dark lashes. But she kept them hidden behind large glasses, trying to hide her prettiest attribute. It was right then and there that he decided to be friends with her. That was the way he was – he made a conscious decision to make friends, and Madison looked as thought she needed one.

"So what is it like, where you come from?" he asked unexpectedly. Madison was a bit taken aback, and looked up at him briefly and than back down at her moving feet.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "It's noisy. Busy. I reside in the city, so everything is always moving. My Mom likes it, but I prefer solitude," she shrugged. "Mom and I differ in many ways. We...do not get along very well."

"Oh?" Legolas said, wondering how anyone could not get along with their own mother. It was like...not getting along with air. Or sunlight. He own mother had been the very picture of grace and elegance, sunbeams shaped into an angel which lived on earth. Madison, however, didn't have that high of an opinion of her mother.

"Yeah. My mom and dad had a divorce," she sighed. "I live with Mom, but I got along better with my dad."

Legolas decided they were polar opposites. He didn't get along with his father at all. But Madison continued. "He gave me that pyrite," she said ruefully, throwing a heated glance at Adavis, who was singing beautifully in her amazing voice. To her, it sounded like shattered glass scraping down a chalkboard. "I miss him."

For the second time in as many minutes, Legolas made another conscious decision. He would get back her pyrite. For a friend. And to maybe get a bit of the love she felt for her father, for himself. If he could learn to love his own father the way she loved hers...He banished all thoughts of his father before they upset him any further.

Isabella and Gimli were getting along surprisingly well. Neither were saying a word, other that Gimli's cursing and Isabella's murmurs. Once again she was reviewing her vocabulary in Elvish. She had established a fairly large lexicon, but it was miniscule in her mind. She cracked her knuckles, quickly, each slim digit curling and snapping. Gimli looked at her with distaste. "That'll hurt your fingers, lass," he warned.

"There's no proof of that," she retorted. "I've been able to do it since I was a small child. And since when do you care for my welfare?"

"We all care for your damn welfare," Gimli snapped. "Open your eyes, lass, and look 'round. You're on this bloody quest because we care about you. The only damned reason we didn't stick you back in Rivendell is because we care. Get it?"

"Oh, yes, because you all care _so_ much for me," Isabella sneered. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Everything's gotta be proven for you, doesn't it?" Gimli said, irritated. "Don't you believe in anything you can't feel or touch?"

"No," Isabella said instantly. "If I can't touch it, smell it, hear it, or feel it, it doesn't exist. It's that simple."

"And you can't feel love, can you? But it's as real as you are, unfortunately." Gimli snapped. Isabella rolled her eyes.

"You can _see_ love," she explained, as one would to a four year old. "Look, right there." Before them, Daphne had just bumped Boromir playfully with her shoulder. She was small and stout, but she looked remarkably _right_ next to him. She smirked. "Love exists. I can see it, feel it, know about it. People experience it every day."

"And you?" Gimli asked, interested for once. Isabella spat disgracefully on the ground.

"Not a chance. Love is for petty fools who can't see beyond their own feet. It clouds the senses and hampers the brain. No, I wish to keep my brain clear, thank you very much. And the day I fall in love will be the day I eat my own shoes." Isabella said coldly. "Love is fine for other people."

"There are different types of love, you whelp," Gimli said, almost laughing. Really, for all her smarts, the girl was an _idiot_. "What about your parents? Siblings? Friends? You love them, don't you?"

Isabella didn't answer. She didn't have to answer.

Because, at that moment, they all heard it.

The rumbling, way down in the bowels of the earth, the monotonous thumping.

They all heard the drums.

**A/N: Be sure to check out my new Community, "The Little Red Binder Awards". Essentially, it's my favorite stories that I print out. Remember those things, printing machines? Wow, I feel so old fashioned now! I actually keep a binder (okay, maybe several binders) of my favorite stories. The best stories get printed out and put in there. The ones in that community are the ones that I print out. Preference is shown to higher content rating, of course; so if you see a nice romance that I might like, send me a PM! I might stick it in there!**


	15. The Map

**A/N: Cookies to whoever can correctly guess what the Map is for!**

"That's our cue," Tolkien said placidly, arriving behind them unexpectedly. Gandalf met his eyes, and the old wizard gave a curt nod. The Fellowship swept off, leaving the Authors alone in the hallway. Tolkien's walking stick rapped against the stone floors twice and he marched over to a small doorway set into the sheer rock cliffs. The door had once been thick, deeply grained oak, but years of moldering underground had reduced it to a mere soggy sheet of wood. It crumbled in his hands as he pried it open without much difficulty, and then he gestured inside. "Ladies first," he said, flicking his walking stick impatiently. Madison, naturally, was the first one to dive headfirst into the opening, closely followed by a smirking Isabella. Daphne gave a lingering look at the Fellowship, wishing she could fight with them, and reluctantly followed the other girls inside. Melody and Michael, however, point-blank refused.

"Why can't we fight?" Michael asked, spluttering, chocolate brown eyes blazing. "They need our help, you know what happens in that tomb!"

"I ought to know, I created the tomb." Tolkien said crisply. "And as I recall, the Fellowship do just fine on their own. I do not think the unexpected arrival of a few Sues will kill anyone. Now, I need your help. Both of you, quickly, come inside!"

"We should help," Melody said, looking longingly at the disappearing Fellowship. "We can help, we can find weapons!" In answer, she wrenched an axe from a nearby corpse and waved it under Tolkien's nose. He plucked it deftly from her grasp.

"Put that down, dear, before you hurt yourself. At this moment, you will be more of a hindrance than a help. Now, I need you _both_ to go inside and help me." Tolkien said firmly, cool blue-gray eyes blazing. "This is more important than helping your friends - this is helping your world. Now,_ get inside_."

Grudgingly, Melody and Michael stepped inside the room. Low ceilings made the place feel cramped and stuffy; the walls were unnaturally shaped, a ragged circle instead of a square, following the natural swells of the rock. Here and there, gouges marked where pickaxes had hewed away some particularly valuable lump of gem, and there was a slight twinkle in the walls, speaking of more gold to be mined. Huge, sagging, blistering bookshelves were propped against the walls, filled with books and scrolls. The carpets had once been a rich crimson, but years of decay from insects and disuse had all but ruined them. In one corner, the corpse of a dwarf was clutching a book in both hands, his grinning skull laughing horribly. Insects writhed in the scant pockets of dying flesh, and the bones which clutched the book seemed frail and ready to break. Several bookshelves had been pushed over, and books were being flattened underneath the weight of the oaken bookshelf. Scrolls, cracked and torn with age and maltreatment, were layering the floor. Tolkien wasted no time; he dropped to his knees with a swiftness and grace men his age should not have. "Look for a scroll," he said impatiently as the drums began to grow louder. "It is a map, with everything outlined in gold. You'll know it when you see it."

The Authors slowly crouched down and began to sift through the scrolls littering the floor. Daphne worked on getting a few flat scrolls from underneath the fallen bookshelves; Madison was flipping through old, dusty tomes, trying to see if a slip of paper had been wedged between the pages. Isabella was looking through the scrolls on the standing shelves, sometimes not even unfolding them, knowing that a map would be roughly larger than the rest. Michael was griding his teeth unpleasantly, and irritably jerking open maps and letting everyone know he would much rather be fighting with the Fellowship. Melody, on the other hand, had pretended to search the areas near the dwarf corpse's feet for scrolls, acting as though she had seen a scroll placed between the body and the wall. In reality, her swift, slender fingers were prying a leather pouch free from the dwarf's hip. It seemed to be in relatively good shape, and it jingled encouragingly when she slipped it in her pocket. _Finally_, she thought to herself. _It's about time I had some money of my own._

"I think I found it," Daphne said, rocking back on her heels. Tolkien described the map as being outlined in gold, but he had left out a few important details. It was beautifully drawn on leaf-thin paper, the edges slightly ragged from constant opening. Three creases marred the otherwise fairly clean surface, yet they didn't take away from the sheer beauty of the drawings. Every detail of Middle Earth was drawn out in fascinating gold pen, filled in carefully with colors that seemed to glow. The Misty Mountains were a smoky gray, capped with irregular peaks, and Mirkwood was dark and lush, eerily beautiful with olive green paint and navy blue. Gondor was a beautiful ridged spiral, the outline of the tiny city glimmering, minute roads leading out the sides. The plains of Rohan were sketched with a loose wrist as it captured the exact vivid green which carpeted the grassy hills. Around the edges of the map, runes written in shining silver had been imprinted, or somehow punched into the paper, for Daphne felt the ridges on the other side. It could have been the dim light, but the symbols seemed to move slightly, shifting subtly like butterflies waiting to stretch their wings and fly. But before she could drink up more details of the map, Tolkien snatched it from her hands.

"Excellent," he said, stuffing it into his vest pocket with a cursory glance. "We need to go."

Indeed, the drums had grown almost deafening, and Tolkien bolted out the door with a speed that surprised everyone. The Authors scrambled to their feet and began to follow him quickly, the sound of the drums harshly slamming through their heads. The Orcs were close enough for the Authors to hear the rasp of their armor, and the distinctive, enraged grunts of their captive troll. Tolkien folded himself into a crease in the wall, and the Authors wriggled in after him, noticing that a narrow path hardly a foot across had been carved into the wall. Daphne found it especially hard, with her plump hips, but she managed, leading the way behind Tolkien. Madison, naturally, clung to Daphne like glue. Isabella followed them gingerly, twitching slightly whenever the thought of spiders crossed her mind. She shut her eyes tightly and clenched Madison's hand in a surprisingly strong grip. To distract herself, she glanced behind her to see how Melody and Michael were doing. She then swore, very carefully and precisely, as if she had never sworn in her life before. This, of course, attracted the attention of Daphne.

"Oh, shit," Daphne said, her vocabulary failing her. "They're gone."

Tolkien let loose a string of expletives that were rather interesting but unrepeatable in present company. "Idiots," he growled. They began forging their way back, trying to find where Melody and Michael had disappeared.

09

Michael wrenched a short Goblin sword from the ribcage of a slaughtered dwarf and swung the rusty blade through the air. Melody swiped hair from her eyes and picked up a shield, strapping it harshly to her arm and testing her choice of weapon, an unusual looking scimitar. It was hammered quite thin and flat, no doubt the careful craftsmanship of some bored dwarf, but it was light and felt balanced. Michael looked at her. "You sure you wanna do this?" he asked. Melody winked, and the two of them headed towards the sounds of battle, running towards their doom.

They arrived at the tomb during the frenzy of the battle, and they threw themselves in the frantic movements with aplomb. There were no terrible shrieks or wild war cries - there was simply the savage clash of metal against metal. Low grunts spoke of when Orcs had been killed, and the echoic tomb bounced the noises back to them, making the battle seem larger than it really was. The troll was wreaking havoc, bulling its own captors aside as it thrashed, throwing itself bodily at walls, making the whole cavern shake and small rocks dislodge from the walls. Michael was on the Orcs right away, his short sword slicing spirals through the air; Melody discovered the blunt edge of her shield was perfect for butting into Orcs wiry necks, and she decided she liked this the best. A lump of lead had been melded onto the bottom of this, forming a blunt spike that was obviously designed to ram into things. Aragorn caught sight of them and swore explosively in Elvish. "Go back!" he shouted over the muted din of battle. "Go back, now!"

"No!" Michael yelled back, flipping his short sword. Aragorn noticed distantly that the boy had a natural fighting pose; fast, agile, light on his feet and perfect for darting back and forth. Michael had the blade pointing inwards, a very peculiar fighting style that was working for him splendidly. Aragorn realized that Michael was knife fighting, and a rather inelegant form of it at that, but he was working wonderfully. Melody, on the other hand, was using brute force that was probably liquidizing all the bones in her arms. They were both...grinning? Was that possible? They were grinning in battle? This set of Authors were very strange.

Tolkien, Daphne, Madison, and Isabella came thundering into the room, shouting for Melody and Michael. Madison stopped dead as soon as she saw the Orcs and, more importantly, the troll. Their shouts attracted its attention, and the huge beast swiveled his head and sniffed the air brutishly. He loped over, landing on his knuckles like some huge primate, and cuffed Isabella through the air with one large swipe. She shrieked to the heavens and slammed against the wall with a muffled thud. Her jaws clicked together, and Daphne saw a stripe of blood trickling down her neck. The dark-haired girl slumped to the ground, eyes closed, and Daphne roared in outrage. She probably would have sailed through the air and attacked the troll with nothing but her bare fists, but a huge purple shape came bounding through the gap. Shonji, catlike smile twitching his muzzle, darted out and slashed at the troll with his extended claws, hissing nastily. A ridge of fur was spiking between his shoulderblades, and his ears were laid flat on his back. The troll, having never seen a tiger, purple or otherwise, wondered thickly if it would be good to eat. The troll soon discovered that cats - especially large tigers - do _not_ appreciate being hoisted into the air by their tails. The troll was rewarded with ten long, deep scratches on his cheeks.

Ethwein launched herself through the air and single-handedly began tackling the troll. She had two long, elegant rapiers which twitched and cut ribbons through the air at the slightest jerk, and they soon incapacitated the troll. The gigantic beast fell with an earth-shattering thud, squashing the remainder of the Orcs. Looking bewildered and slightly disappointed to this blunt, anticlimatic end, the Fellowship slowly lowered their swords. Tolkien wasted absolutely no time; he was already yelling at the top of his lungs. "Do you have any brains? Either of you? Do you realize you are _vital_ to this quest? If you die, we shall fail!"

Melody jutted her chin forward determinedly. She had a small, well-shaped, willful little chin, and her lower lip was trembling with anger. Michael was seized with a mad desire to kiss that wobbly lip, but he reined himself in and turned forcefully to Tolkien. "Look, man, I know we're important 'n' stuff, but we want some action! What's the point of bein' in Lord of the frickin' Rings of you don't fight a little? Am I right?"

Daphne was kneeling by Isabella, and she looked up angrily, pouting lips twisted into a scowl. "You idiots! Look! Look what happened to her!" she was crying as she cradled Isabella's unconscious body. "If you had just _listened_, and come with us, this wouldn't have happened!"

The fight went out of Melody and Michael when they saw Isabella's bleeding gash and limp body. Daphne picked the child up with little difficulty - she was, after all, only fourteen, and small at that. She speared Melody and Michael with a glare. "You have to stop thinking of yourselves! You guys are so selfish it's disgusting. You can't be running off to fight every stupid Orc that comes charging at you! We have something bigger to deal with - we have this whole story to save. This story, our friends, even this floor we're standing on, won't _exist_ if we don't work together!"


	16. Wait, Who Died?

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short. Oh well. Enjoy anyway. There's a poll on my profile where you can vote for your favorite Author. Please do; it'll only take a few seconds.**

**WARNING: Character Death. Plot Twist.**

It was a good thing Isabella didn't weigh much, Daphne mused. The spiky-haired blonde had insisted on carrying the child by herself, and had instantly tore a strip of cloth from her tunic, leaving her midriff inadvertently exposed. Binding Isabella's hands around Daphne's neck was the easy part - carrying her was the hard part. To keep Isabella from accidentally choking her, Daphne hooked an arm underneath each knee and tilted herself slightly forward. The girl moaned a little and shifted, sending a trickle of blood down Daphne's back. She shuddered. No doubt it was from the head wound the girl had suffered from her collision with the wall. The Fellowship was ahead of her already, but the Authors - along with Tolkien - dawdled behind, waiting impatiently for her. As soon as Isabella was secured on her back, they took off down the passageway, around twisting corners and through wide, low corridors. They followed Gandalf's icy blue shard of light that illuminated their way, trying in vain to keep from tripping over rocks and jutting corpses. Then the hallway bloomed into an impossibly large cavern, ceilings stretching away to darkness far, far above their heads. Gigantic pillars were wreathed in cracks, wrinkled from the constant strain of keeping the ceiling aloft.

Suddenly, before anyone knew what was happening, goblins and Orcs began pouring from the walls like cockroaches. They scrambled down the cracked pillars, spilling from the cracks like ink as the swarmed over to the large group. There was an impossible amount of them - hundreds, possibly thousands, and Daphne felt panic rising in her chest. They were hideously ugly, with sallow-green skin and crooked yellow fangs. Greasy hair hung in oily dreadlocks from their scalps, and their scaly fists were wrapped around cumbersome, rusty pikes with ragged black bannerettes spiked on the end. Their armor seemed to be fairly thin, crude leather sewn together with a few metal clips, but there were so many of them it really didn't matter. They howled shrieking war cries, the sounds bouncing off the echoic cavern, filling their ears and causing icy fingers of fear to ripple down their spines. They raced towards them, bloodlust evident in their glowing black eyes, loping slightly on their feet.

They pulled up before they reached the Fellowship or the Authors, war cries turning into squeals of pain when they saw Adavis. She was glowing, strength shimmering in the air around her, a sword - which had never been seen before - in her fist. It was a golden sword, also shimmering, inscribed with runes and symbols. In spite of everything, Daphne found time to roll her eyes. "Give me a break," she muttered to herself as Adavis warded off the goblins. They ran from the very sight of her, whooping and fleeing away, back into the chasms and caves and sticky, messy puddles. Daphne adjusted Isabella on her back, trying to calm her racing heart as she steeled herself for what was going to come. The rest of the Fellowship looked slightly frightened and unsure, but the Authors looked like their hearts were going to implode. Tolkien, above all else, stood there calmly, thumbs tucked into his vest pockets. They drew in closer together instinctively, gathering themselves in one solid mass for whatever was hurtling around the corner.

One thing that was never portrayed in the movie was the absolutely impossible amount of heat that was cracking the walls. Madison felt an instant sunburn scorch her face and any inch of exposed flesh - white hot flames were licking around the corner. The balrog was enormous, red scales covering it's gigantic body, wreathes of fire licking around its torso and head, looking as though someone had sculpted lava into the shape of a monster. Colossal black curled horns jutted from either side of its head, and vapid red eyes, pinpointed with red dots in the very center, roved over the now positively terrified Fellowship. A snout, more of a muzzle, was broken with jagged black fangs, and its feet had claws easily the side of Daphne's arm. It bellowed at the ceiling, titanic claws curling and uncurling as it salivated at the idea of a new meal, consisting of juicy Authors for lunch and crunchy Fellowship members for dinner. There was a terrible, swelling, poignant silence while the balrog stared at them and the large group of people, dwarves, elves, Authors, Sues, and one amazing author stared at the balrog. And then -

"RUN!"

Daphne didn't know who said it and really didn't care; she was running as fast as she could while hampered by Isabella's dead weight. Ahead of her, she saw Tolkien picking Madison up from the ground - apparently the klutzy teen had fallen yet again - and the saw Michael bypassing Aragorn to catch up with Melody, who was far outstripping the rest of the group. Gandalf was standing stone-faced at the balrog, who was cracking a lethal looking whip threateningly. She didn't have time to look twice, because Aragorn was shouting at her to hurry up and everything was so loud and Isabella was so heavy and she just didn't know which way to turn or what to do. Almost automatically, she hitched Isabella a little higher and swallowed a deep breath .

_Concentrate. _

Memories of her father's training popped to her mind, and she blinked hard, swiping stinging sweat from her eyes. She tried to run without jostling Isabella, not wanting to cause the child more pain, and took off after them, skidding around corners and bumping into various members of the Fellowship. Her eyes seized a flash of purple, and she saw the thing she had most wanted to see - Shonji, his curious grin plastered on his muzzle, whiskers twitching, and above all, Adavis was _not on his back_.

_Need help, Author?_

"That," Daphne panted as she untied Isabella from her neck, "would be awesome." She clambered on top of Shonji awkwardly, not exactly knowing how to ride a gigantic purple tiger. Adavis had made it look so easy, sitting as prim as a queen on his broad, furry back, but that glossy purple fur was slippery. She leaned forward, seizing a handful of fur on either side of his neck, keeping Isabella carefully pressed between her own not-precisely-petite body and Shonji's hard, muscled back. She dug her heels into his sides and the tiger sprang forward, shoulder muscles rippling as he pounced down the hallway, tail flicking behind him. They easily caught up to the Authors, who were standing stock still in the middle of the bridge. The bridge itself was massive, a single, high arch spanning over the rocky gulf which was shrouded in eerie darkness. Gandalf was standing at the very end of the bridge, his sword and his staff clenched in each fist.

"YOU - SHALL NOT - PASS!"

There was a blinding sheet of brilliance that swept from the sword and the staff combined, overwhelming the balrog, causing it to stumble back and claw at its eyes, and then the ground began dissolving like wet sand. Boulders the size of cottages melted away underneath the balrog's weight, and it flailed its way down into the rocky canyon, huge, sinewy, burning body shrinking down in the distance. Gandalf took a trembling breath, drawing a hand across his eyes, and turned to go.

A ribbon of flame leapt up, dancing like sparks on the wind, and flicked around his ankle …

But missed.

Gandalf darted out of the way, and instead of catching him, it caught Ethwein by the arm. She was jerked to the end of the crater, beautiful, perfect fingers scrabbling for purchase, and she was hauled to the very edge. She looked at them, painful eyes sad and depressed, beautifully grieved as she looked at the Fellowship. "Fly, you fools," she choked out, and let go.

"Son of a bitch," Michael mumbled under his breath. "She stole his line."

It was with numb shock that the Authors and the Fellowship threw themselves on the uncomfortable rocks dotting the area outside of Moria. There was no sobbing, no tears - except from Quilemna and Adavis, who were crying, well, prettily - nothing except a dim feeling of relief. But the Authors all felt sick to their stomachs with guilt and apprehension. They turned to Tolkien, who looked just as surprised as they did. "Mr. Tolkien?" Madison asked timidly. "Gandalf is still…you know. Is that supposed to happen?"

Tolkien looked off in the distance, passing a hand over his face distractedly. He rumpled his hair, and then patted his pockets for his pipe. "No," he said finally, staring at Gandalf. "No, he's not supposed to be alive." He looked at the Authors. "I don't know what happened. The Sues…" he trailed off, but they all knew what he meant.

The Sues were getting stronger.

And they were wrecking canon big time.


	17. Lothlorien Is So Pwetty

**A/N: Another short chapter, I'm afraid, but plenty of lovely descriptions! Enjoy!**

Lothlorien shimmered in the dying embers of the setting sun, the long tawny arms of the blazing orb stretching one last time over the fantastically glittering trees, making them twinkle. The trees were straight and tall, with no lower branches, spreading a canopy of gorgeous silver leaves over the Fellowship and the Authors. Underneath their feet, the forest floor was half-frozen, ringing out harshly whenever their footsteps padded against the scrubbed ground. Luckily for the clumsy Madison, the path was well-kept and rather easy to follow, with the odd tree-root to trip her up and add some amusement to the weary friends. A doe, tan fur stretched over thin bones which shifted restlessly, laid her ears back and bleated at them once before bounding off. A brook rippled somewhere off to their left, creating a gentle white noise in the background. Still, Michael had an eerie feeling he was being watched - it wasn't an unusual feeling, seeing as he was born on the scummy streets of New York City, where someone was always watching you. But these eyes seemed colder, sharper - less menacing, but more calculating. The woods of Lorien were far more beautiful that the soft, lush forests of Imaldris, but it was colder, subtly harsher, and definitely more intellectual. Michael couldn't help but think that Isabella would love a place like this - his stomach turned queasily whenever he looked at the unconscious girl. Daphne had stubbornly refused to let Aragorn or Boromir take the child from her, and carried her all the way to Lothlorien. But Isabella hadn't moved or made a sound in several hours, and Daphne reported that her forehead was burning and her palms were sweating. Melody drew closer to Michael, and he lost coherent thought for the briefest flicker of an instant. She was looking around, pretty golden-brown eyes narrowing slightly as she evaluated the situation. For the first time, he noticed she had a scattering of freckles across her nose, and there was a miniscule lump in her pocket. He wondered what she carried.

The Hobbits were clustering to Aragorn automatically, Frodo looking as though he might fall over at any moment. Merry and Pippin were breathing too hard to talk, exhausted from the long hours spent jogging or walking. Sam looking as though someone had splattered a tomato in his face, and he was the one leaning closest to Aragorn. Gimli hefted his axe, looking around the woods significantly. "They say that a witch of unsurpassed power walks these woods," he said, fingering the smooth wooden handle of his axe. "They say she draws men in with her beauty, like flies to a spiderweb, and when they are at their most vulnerable -"

"Enough tales, Master Dwarf," Gandalf said sharply. "We are being watched, and I would prefer to make the right impression upon the Galadhrim, and _not_ say that Lady Galadriel is a witch."

"Generally a good idea," Tolkien said, his first words in hours. He kept staring at Gandalf as though he expected him to disappear at any moment. Considering the circumstances, none of the Authors would have been a bit surprised if he had. Adavis suddenly paused, halting Shonji with a brief tug to his ear. The massive purple tiger growled low in his throat.

_I am not a bell pull, Miss Adavis. If you wish me to stop, say so. _

Adavis, of course, ignored him, and slid gracefully off his broad back. Shonji shook his coat, smoothing his fur with the rasp of his tongue. The beautiful elf maiden looked expectantly towards the woods. "I hear a step," she said dramatically.

"Of course you do," Melody grumbled. "And you'll hear _my_ step connecting with your fat little patootie if you don't keep moving, sweetheart."

Adavis, of course, ignored her, and waited patiently until the first silver-haired elf stepped from the trees. It was eerie, the way the blended in perfectly with the woods - their armor was silver, painted intricately with scrawling trees and delicately embroidered leaves, and their bows were golden, to match the colors of the canopies. There was one who stood head and shoulders above the rest, broad-chested, strong-featured, with deep set gray eyes and a spear strapped to his back. A shield, bearing the careful insignia of a thick mallorn tree, was belted to his back, and he regarded them carefully, eyeing them up and down. When he spoke, it was in Elvish, clear and precise, a crystal brook flowing around craggy boulders. "Aragorn, you bring newcomers," he said idly, gray eyes half-closed and appearing lazy. "And why do you bring such evil into our lands?" he asked, fixing his gaze on Frodo.

"Marchwarden, we have wounded that need tending," Gandalf said, stepping into the gap with ease. "And we bring five Authors from a distant land to speak with Galadriel, along with the Bookkeeper." Haldir's lazy eyes sparked once, and a single eyebrow arched. That was the extent of his surprise.

"Very well, Mithrandir," he said. He gestured impatiently with his hand, moving it from its contented spot on his spear handle. "Come with me."

Adavis got back on Shonji, trying to make an impression on him, allowing her skirt to ride up slightly, exposing perhaps a scant half-inch of creamy leg. Haldir's gaze - as all males probably would when confronted with her - swept her body, and then, to everyone's surprise, looked away. He seemed more interested in the colossal purple tiger who was showing off by arching his neck and stretching the musles on his shoulders. As it is with all cats, Shonji was extremely vain. The Authors were led by Tolkien through the winding passageway, up one small hill and down another. The elves all moved silently, swiftly, without a single misstep, and Melody envied their long, flawless hair. The Galadhrim were all gawping at Adavis, Quilemna and Vanima, of course, all except for Haldir, who seemed slightly disinterested in them. She filed this away for later, but was interrupted when Madison fell flat on her face, nearly taking out one of the Galadhrim. Legolas righted her, trying to smother a laugh that was threatening to spill from his mouth. Madison really was truly clumsy. "Be careful, little one," he breathed in her ear. "The Galadhrim warriors are grim-faced today." He decided she already knew this, for she was eyeing them with a decidedly frightened air. He stifled another laugh. She frightened of everything, poor thing. As they crested the hill, all thoughts of Madison's clumsiness and fearfulness was driven from his mind when they saw the city of Lorien spread out like a tapestry before them.

The colors were strikingly vibrant - emerald green pastures were slashed by deepest cerulean rivers, twisting around silver boulders. The buildings were somehow built into the silver trees, some of them on top of the branches, others built below them, against the thick, sturdy trunk. Everything was bathed in a silvery glow, as though the moon had come to rest on the peaceful city. Beautiful fields, studded with gorgeous flowers of all brilliant shades, encircled the land. Horses picked up their fine, narrow noses and sniffed the air, as if welcoming the weary Fellowship and tired Authors to their beatific city. An aura veiled the city, the high, unearthly strains of music reaching their ears, as if the wind had twisted through the branches and made music purely from nature. Nothing was shadowed or darkened - everything was lit up in the hard, blazing fire of the sun which was sinking majestically behind its shrouds of sharply pink clouds and the last tinges of azure sky. The scents were light, fruity and delicious, as if they were biting into a crisp apple every time they took a breath. Elves paused in their work as they looked at the awestruck group, all of them astonished at the sheer beauty and fantastic sights of Lothlorien. Michael didn't see any elf unsmiling; they all looked peaceful and contented, their ageless faces carrying a skimming of joy in every movement. Slowly, the magic still tangible in the fabric of the approaching night, they followed the warriors down the path into the glorious city. All around them, elves smiled and greeted them in soft, gentle whispers of encouragement or welcome. It was one of those crowds in which everyone appears to be talking, but no one is opening their mouth. Surrounded by immortal, all powerful, flawless beings, the Fellowship and the Authors all felt hideously dowdy in comparison.

And then they saw them.

No matter how large your vocabulary is, there are no words to describe the beauty and dignity of Celeborn and Galadriel. She was perfect, her delicate looking hand resting lightly on her husband's fist, thick golden hair falling in a curtain to her waist, ripples of liquid heaven traveling down her shoulders. Her eyes were clear, glassy blue, as if hewn from the most sparkling crystal, and they looked at the exhausted Fellowship with sympathy. They were both covered in a silver aura, the very air around them humming with power as they descended the stairs one by one. None of the Authors were looking at Adavis, but they knew that she must appear even more beautiful and good-looking than Galadriel - none of them wanted to spoil the sight by looking at the serene, perfect face of their accompanying Mary Sues. Celeborn met Gandalf's eyes and both Galadriel and Celeborn bowed low. "Gandalf, Fellowship, Bookkeeper, Authors, it is an honor to be in your presence," Celeborn said. His voice was deep and immeasurably rich, smooth and wise sounding at the same time. Daphne felt her knees quake, and not from weariness. "But we do ill to keep our guests standing when they are so worn and weary. Come, bring your wounded, and we shall tend to them."

Daphne reluctantly allowed Isabella to be taken off her back, and the spiky-haired blonde stretched her shoulders, popping the ligaments. As several amazing looking elves hurried Isabella away, the strangest feeling came over her. It was as though a cold, wet finger was examining her thoughts, and she shivered unconsciously. And then, clear as day, a thought that was completely unrelated her her own thought process, ballooned up to her mind. _Strength, Lady Daphne. You will do better to trust the ones you love, and take heed of their advice. _

Michael was trying to fight down the butterflies that were erupting in his stomach, realizing that the healers were frowning over Isabella's prone body. If she was dead, Michael would never be able to live with himself. That would be the stains of two lives on his hands, two completely innocent lives that he had taken because of his own selfishness. An alien probe tickled the back of his mind, disrupting his thoughts of self-pity. _Lord Michael, you must have faith. Pain and suffering will befall you before you get what you truly desire. _

Madison stood on each foot, mouth still slightly open as she gaped at the beauty around her. All of a sudden she felt gawky and bumbling and stupid, realizing that her frizzy hair was a tangled mess, her glasses were askew, and her clothes stank of dirt and sweat and blood. She must look like a lump of chalk compared to a Michelangelo statue. All of a sudden, there was another, very distinct presence in her mind. _Brave Lady Madison, you must have courage. You are needed to save the lives of many. _

Melody fingered the smooth, slick green stone in her pocket. She still had it from all the way back in Imaldris. She was sort of surprised that it hadn't gotten lost in Moria, but rather pleased that it hadn't. But the thing that was annoying her most was the glittering lump of pyrite around Adavis's neck, threaded prettily on a strip of black leather. Her criminal mind suddenly began to work, wheels and cogs turning as The Itch began to tingle her fingertips. She was going to steal it, she realized, and little warm glow thickened her body. Suddenly, there was a thought in her mind that was not hers and completely unrelated to stealing stolen items. _Temper, Lady Melody. If you allow your passion to get the better of you, a love shall be shattered. _

And then, interrupting Tolkien's thoughts like a hammer to glass: _What will you sacrifice for your story, Bookkeeper?_

Without hesitation, he thought, _Anything. Absolutely anything._

**_09_**

**A/N: What do you think Michael meant when he said "The stains of two lives". Which other life is he talking about? Elf plushie doll of your choice (Elrond, Legolas, Haldir, etc.) to whoever gets the correct guess!**


	18. Chess and Clouds

**A/N: Lothlorien is going to be about two chapters long, including this one, so expect this story to end in about 3-4 chapters. Enjoy.**

**WARNING: IMPORTANT. READ CAREFULLY (until you get to the cloud-watching scene. That's just for fun). VERY IMPORTANT DREAM SEQUENCE.**

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><p>Isabella was smart. Nobody could deny that. She was smart, and she was cold. She didn't form friendships, and she didn't connect with people her own age. Being a Grand Chess Master didn't involve a lot of wining and dining; everything was based off their concentration and their skills on the board. You could be as rich, popular, and outgoing as you wanted - but if you couldn't figure out that you needed to move your knight to E5 to avoid a checkmate, you were toast. Isabella had been in sixteen Grand Chess Tournaments, and had won twelve of them. She was known around the world as the girl who was quickest on her feet, the girl who could out think you without even considering it. She had been to Italy, France, Germany, Canada, and Brazil. She had dueled the best Chess Masters, seen the Louvre and the Colosseum, tasted the chocolate of Germany and seen the thick jungles of Brazil. But no matter how many places she had been, no matter how many Chess Masters she had dueled, nothing could prepare her for the pain. It was all encompassing, complete, thorough. Eternity stretched into forever which twined into immortality, lifetimes of pain. She didn't know that Daphne had been sitting by her bedside for the past sixteen hours, didn't know that she was safely in the woods of Lorien, didn't know that she was being tended to by Celeborn himself, didn't even know she was unconscious. She didn't even know her own name. The only thing she could go was stumble around in her dream-world, thinking of chess and her family and her books. The three things which kept her anchored to this earth, the only three things she would miss if she died. And in the same way, it was these three things which brought her back.<p>

She was entangled in a dream, cocooned in a blanket of hazy, foggy figures. People talked but didn't form words, simply shouting meaningless gibberish that she couldn't understand. Slowly, things melted and dripped into one another until they formed solid figures, and she blinked suddenly. A chessboard was under her feet - she felt relieved to recognize the distinct squares of black and white, and she saw that she was on D5, the center of the board. Tall pieces of solid marble seemed miles away - they contained amazing detail; there were tiny jewels on the King and Queen's crowns, and all the pawns had faces that were different. The Black King had a beard, while the White King did not. One of the White Knights had braided ribbons into his horse's tail, and both Black Knights were wearing armor with intricate designs on their armor. It was fascinating, and Isabella have stood there and stared at them for ages. But the edges were blurred, fuzzy, masking some of the beautiful detail she so longed to see. So she stood on the center, wondering if she should go see the white pieces or the black pieces first. It didn't take her long - white was her preference - so she began advancing across the board, marching straight up to the first White Pawn. She stared hard at it, squinting, wondering why it seemed so familiar, and then it clicked.

The White Pawn looked exactly like Boromir. He was handsome, and the marble had somehow had sketched the stubble on his chin onto the face. He had his hand resting on his sword hilt, and he was wearing light leather armor - all made out of marble, of course. Next to him was Frodo - shorter, and he actually had the ring around his neck. Isabella continued down the board, marvelling at the intricacy of the pieces. Madison, she was not surprised to see, was a Bishop, complete with an armload of books in her hand and glasses slipping to the end of her nose. Michael was a knight, a plumed helmet tucked into the crook of his arm, his hair spiked into dangerously needle-sharp points. Melody was a Rook, her long blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she stood on top of the tower, and Isabella saw with a cold shudder that the tower looked shockingly similar to Isenguard. Daphne was also a Bishop, although she carried only one small book tucked close to her chest, and she stood closest to Tolkien. Isabella was not surprised to see that Tolkien was the White King, but she didn't recognize his Queen, who was plain but pretty, with long hair and large eyes.

She turned around and saw that the black pieces looked sharper and more jagged compared to the whites, and she was seized with a madcap desire to cross the board again. So she did so, and to her surprise, the closer she got to the black pieces, the harder it became for her to move. When she was close, she shuddered. The Black Pawns seemed to be mostly Orcs, again amazingly detailed - tattoos, piercings, and missing chunks of flesh decorating them perfectly. The Black Queen, she was utterly unsurprised to see, was Adavis, complete with bow in hand. The Black King was surprisingly handsome - a short black beard, dangerous looking eyes, broad-shouldered and strikingly good-looking. She supposed he was Sauron. Shagrat, she was unsurprised to see, was a Bishop, spear clenched in his hands, and Ethwein, clad in long flowing robes, was a Knight. Vanima was the other Bishop, and Quilemna was the other Knight.

But to her surprise, Shonji was a Rook, his large frame and thick fur cast completely in black marble. The other Rook was a wolf, fur bristling dangerously, muzzle rippled into a snarl. The black pieces frightened her, and she backed up. It was when the pieces began to move when she screamed - but like most dreams, the sound didn't come out. There was a horrible thud, and she saw one of the Black Pawns (A large Uruk with a bow in its fist) had moved a single space. In retaliation, the Boromir-Pawn moved two spaces forward. Isabella dashed off the side of the board, desperate to get off the game board, but she slammed into a slippery, invisible boundary. It was then that she noticed one of the Rooks didn't have a person on top of the tower - with a cold ripple of dread, she realized what she had to do. Slowly, she crossed the board and went to the Rook, which now loomed as high as a skyscraper in front of her. There was a door in the marble, and she opened it, stepping inside. There was a long staircase made entirely of marble, and she mounted the stairs hesitantly. When she reached the top, she pushed up a hatch and clambered onto the roof, looking out over the chessboard. She was in the game of chess, she realized, and the story was playing out before her.

Details blurred and connected, but she remembered fragments - The White King kept Daphne close to his side, and they seemed intent on moving across the board. Melody and Madison were captured, and she found her tower moving with Michael's Knight, along with the Aragorn-Knight, the Gimli-Pawn, and the Legolas-Pawn. The board seemed suddenly huge, and when she moved onto a black space, she found herself falling. She fell and fell, trying frantically to scream, and then ...

"Hey, you're awake!"

Daphne was above her, silver-green eyes tired but happy. Isabella blinked - that simple movement took all of her strength - and tried to focus. She saw splashes of color, spinning and blurring until they settled into shapes she could recognize. Daphne was dressed in a fresh tunic, beige colored, and dark leggings. She was sitting cross legged next to her, a damp washcloth in her her hand and a weary little smile on her plump features. Isabella closed her eyes again, and she heard rustling movements. Something was put to her lips and liquid rushed into the dark crevices of her mouth unexpectedly, and she swallowed the keep from choking. Suddenly things sharpened, but the pain in her head began to dim. Her brain couldn't form intelligent words to ask what was going on, but she found that she could breathe, blink, and open her eyes. Daphne was looking at her worriedly. "Isabella? Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Isabella focused, and saw that Daphne was holding up two fingers. She couldn't marshal her tongue to obey her, so she merely lifted her hand and mirrored Daphne's fingers. The blond looked utterly relieved. "Oh, goodness gracious! You have me scared for a minute. We've been making sure you could pull through - Celeborn (he's super nice, by the way) said you would be okay, but I wanted to make sure." Daphne said. Isabella let her hand fall back on the pillow and she dozed off to the sound of Daphne's chatter.

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><p>The only good thing about her father's insistence that she travel the country was the amount of trees there were. Melody had always been good at climbing trees - but buildings were her speciality. She had learned to use even the smallest foot holes; and when there weren't any foot holes, she made some. The walls of important buildings were generally made out of brick - with the right length nails and her Adidas which had begun to tear at the toe, she could climb for a good sixty feet until she got tired and had to sit on a window ledge somewhere. Naturally, Melody didn't start out climbing brick buildings - she started with climbing trees. So even the hard, smooth trunks of the mallorn trees posed no difficulty for the agile woman - she simple cracked every knuckle on her hands and did a few handstands to limber up, and then began climbing. Due to the fact that Middle Earth hadn't invented nail clippers yet, her nails were decently long and they dug into the tree nicely. Clawing like a cat was rough on the fingers, but it was the easiest way to climb a tree without any lower branches. When she reached the broad, strong limb she had been aiming for, she swung a leg over it and straddled the branch. It dipped slightly under her weight, but it was hardly noticeable. She cracked her knuckles again and peered at the ground - about ten feet. Not a far drop, she mused. Enough to create a dramatic presence for what she was planning. Melody combed her bangs from her eyes absently and waited patiently. She was patient, unlike most girls her age. She learned long ago that thieves who were impatient were sloppy.<p>

She didn't have to wait long until she heard the all-too-familiar noise of Adavis laughing. She was walking slowly down the pathway, surrounded by several eager male members of the Galadhrim, who were all vying for her attention. Melody waited until the entire group was perhaps five feet from her branch, and then she dropped from the limb. It created exactly the effect she wanted - Adavis screamed and the Galadhrim members reached for their knives. But when Melody flipped her hair from her eyes and smiled prettily at them, they relaxed visibly. "Hey," she said sweetly, smiling at Adavis. Adavis was a Sue, and therefore, she wasn't stupid. She knew that Melody wanted something.

"Goodness, Melody, you'll kill yourself one day!" Adavis said, clasping a hand to her heart as though she were acting Romeo in a school play. "What were you thinking?"

"Oh, I wanted to surprise my _best _friend," Melody chirruped, falling in step with Adavis and linking arms with her. Adavis wasn't stupid, but she was vain. She smiled beautifully and glanced at Melody.

"I'm glad to see you've stopped seeing so much of those..._others_," Adavis said, scowling slightly. Melody suppressed her feelings easily, cramming them down into a little jar where she planned to hold all her emotions about Adavis until there was something she could punch.

"I know! Aren't they so _dull_?" Melody said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Adavis seemed delighted that she shared her sentiments, and the warriors were delighted because Adavis was delighted. With all this delight going around, Adavis didn't seem to particularly mind Melody twirling a strand of Adavis's dark hair around her finger. "You have such gorgeous hair," Melody said. Adavis blushed prettily.

"Really?" she said modestly. "I find it annoying, to tell you the truth," she lied.

"No! Really? I think it's _beautiful_," Melody said, voice dripping with just the right amount of flattery. Adavis led the Galadhrim over to a small clearing where there was plenty of room for them to sit. Adavis sat on a stump, and Melody immediately claimed the seat next to her. "Can I braid it?" she asked, sounding exactly like a fawning admirer. Adavis flicked her hair over her shoulder.

"Go ahead, I don't mind," Adavis said, and Melody began to run her fingers through the silken locks. Naturally, Adavis's hair was perfect. Melody began twining the thick hair into a braid, careful to keep her fingers close to Adavis's neck. Now came the tricky part. Melody's swift fingers bumped deliberately against Adavis's necklace, and then made a little pout.

"This necklace is getting in my way. Could you take it off?" Melody asked. Adavis took it off and laid it on the seat next to her. Melody finished the braid and wound it into a bun on the top of Adavis's head, then sat down directly on the necklace. She turned to the Galadhrim. "Doesn't she look gorgeous?" The warriors, of course, began praising Adavis with poetry. One of them actully pulled out a harp and began composing a song about Adavis's beauty. In all the commotion, nobody noticed Melody slipping the necklace into her pocket.

That is, all except Adavis.

"My necklace!" Adavis cried.

As a thief, Melody knew that most of the time, you had to talk your way out of situations. She was particularly glib and smooth, quick with an answer, and she had fooled hundreds of security guards by passing her fingers through her hair and folding her arms to push her breasts together. But there were other times when a thief needs to run. Melody made a split second decision that this was one of those times that you run. Being pursued by a dozen angry Galadhrim and one enraged Sue was not a pleasant place to be, and Melody employed every muscle in her body to make her run faster. There was one advantage to her situation, however: she knew where she was going, and Adavis did not.

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><p>Madison was lying flat on her back next to Legolas, the two of the in a comfortable distance from each other. Legolas, she discovered, had never gone cloud watching, and she had promptly dragged him to the nearest grassy hill and pushed him on his back. Together, the two of them had flopped on the lawn and began pointing out clouds to each other. It was a spectacular day for cloud watching - thick, fluffy white clouds pranced across the skies like sheep on helium, the grass was soft and pleasantly ticklish under their palms, and the sunlight was deliciously warm. Madison pointed her hand straight up. "Look! A teddy bear!" she exclaimed. Legolas looked at the cloud critically, blue eyes narrowing.<p>

"I don't see it," he admitted. "Where?"

Madison drew close to him and pointed at the sky, outlining the supposed bear. "Look, there's the head, with two ears, and that's the body, and those are the legs, and those things are the arms." she explained. Legolas cocked his head to the side.

"It looks like a bear that's been chewed by a dog," he said truthfully. Madison collapsed into giggles, and, thus encouraged, Legolas continued with a smile on his face. "No, I'm serious. Why is one arm shorter than the other?"

"It had an accident," Madison laughed, body quaking with giggles. "A child with scissors wanted to see if it had bones."

"I would be delighted to hear how you cut a cloud," Legolas said, coaxing another wave of giggles from Madison.

"They had pigeons," Madison said, sputtering the words in her happiness, "A bunch of pigeons tied to a string, and they flew them like a kite to cut through the cloud."

Legolas considered this. "It would have to be very long string," he said after a moment of thought, "And some very large pigeons."

It's possible that they would have stayed on the hilltop until suppertime, posing new questions on how one could cut a cloud, but Melody dashed up the hilltop, breathing hard. Madison hardly had time to see what was glittering in her hands before Melody pulled Madison to her feet and spun her around. Something was pulled onto her neck and fastened behind her, and Madion turned to Melody, bewildered. "What...?" she asked.

Melody bent over, hands on her knees. "Your - pyrite," she gasped. "Stole it from - Sue."

Madison didn't approve of stealing - she was Catholic, and thought it was a sin. But she was overjoyed to have her pyrite back in her possession at last, so she threw herself at Melody with a fangirly squeal. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she said, much to Legolas's amusement. This happy reunion was interrupted by Adavis bursting onto the hill, her beautiful face contorted into an angry grimace.

"You stole it!" she shouted. Melody fell on the ground, laughing between her pants as she tried to breathe. Adavis turned to Madison and saw that her necklace was fastened on her neck. It looked becoming on Madison - the black strip of leather drew attention to her unusual smoky blue eyes and kind mouth, and the pyrite twinkled happily in the sunlight. "That's mine!" Adavis said, who, of course, wasn't panting at all. "She stole it. Give it back this _instant_."

Madison did something she had never done in her life. She smirked. "No, I think your mistaken," Madison said in the sweetest voice she could muster. "This has been in my family for _generations_."


	19. She'll Do Rather Well

**A/N: This chapter has a point, but there are plenty of things that are simply fluff and good-natured fun. This book has two more chapters left, and then it's off to _The Two Towers_. Enjoy!**

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><p>There was absolutely nothing more handsome than a bare-chested elf, Madison decided.<p>

She got this little jewel of information when she followed Melody and Michael down to the sparring ground so Michael could convince Aragorn or Boromir to spar with him. She hadn't quite been expecting to see a dozen shirtless elves dueling in various forms of attack, but after five seconds of seeing hardened abdominals and carved pectorals she decided she didn't mind one bit. Of course, seeing handsome men - or elves, in this case - always made her feel horribly ugly, so she hid behind Melody. It wasn't hard, since Melody was about five-foot-eight and Madison was five-foot-two. Michael, seeing that the sun was hot and only getting hotter, stripped to the waist and tossed his tunic aside. Madison could have sworn she saw a blush skate over Melody's cheeks, but she could have been wrong. After all, she had never seen the thief blush. But Michael was quite handsome without his shirt; his cinnamon colored skin was pleasantly lithe and flat, muscled without overcompensating. His earring twinkled in the sunlight along with his grin as he smiled at them, that lightning grin skittering up the corner of his mouth. He was also very conceited. He flexed several times, posing like a Mr. Universe model, and kissed each bicep. "Does it look like I'm flexing?" he asked Melody, dropping to one knee and giving her a profile view of his muscular arms. Melody laughed a little and messed up his hair. To Michael, this was like the end of the world. "Woah, woah, woah, lady, hands off the hair," he said, carefully running his fingertips through his hair again to spike the dark hair into stiff peaks once more. His hair had gotten longer, and no longer had the lethally sharp points in front. Actually, it was developing into a ridge above his eyebrows, making him look boyish and rather cute. Melody tactfully decided not to mention this.

"Yes, it does," she informed him, and sat down on one of the benches. She looked longingly at the glittering array of weapons on the other side of the field, and licked her lips. "Do you think it would be a gigantic breech of protocol if I sparred?" she asked no one in particular. Unfortunately, this usually meant Madison, and it was she who answered.

"They seem slightly overprotective of their weapons," Madison said, pointing. "Is that Haldir over there?" It was. Haldir was over by the weapons rack, surrounded by giggling ellith, looking more than satisfied. He was bordering on smug. There was a lazy smirk on his face that was visible even from this distance, and Melody growled low in her throat.

"Womanizers," she grumbled. "Michael, are you going to spar or what?" she asked impatiently. "And where's Aragorn?"

"Over there, with Gandalf," Madison told her. "And they seem to be having a very animated conversation. I wouldn't disturb them, if I were you."

"Yeah, well, if you were me, there would be two Michaels running around. And I think there would just be too much epicness in one place for this world to handle, you know what I mean?" Michael said, sauntering over to the bench where Gandalf and Aragorn were talking. Melody shook her head, hiding her smile behind her hand. Madison almost said something about the absurd amount of smiling Melody was doing around Michael, but luckily, it was at that moment that Legolas snuck up behind Madison and gave her a friendly poke on the shoulder.

"Aiiiii!"

Madison toppled over, landing on her back, staring up at a highly amused Legolas. She swatted at his ankles distractedly. "Elves!" she grumped. Melody was having a fit of laughter on the bench, sputtering things like 'your face, your face, you should have seen your face'. Legolas helped her to her feet and tried hard to suppress his smile. Unfortunately, it didn't work. Madison glared good-naturedly at him. "And you thought it would be amusing to poke me when I am undefended, eh?"

"You are never undefended," Legolas told her with a laugh. "I have never seen someone wield a a pigeon on a string with such deadly accuracy." The two of them laughed then, and Madison's hand went to her throat to stroke the lump of pyrite that were resting between the notch of her collarbones. "But I came over here to ask if you would like to come with me on a ride." he said. Madison looked worried.

"A ride? Like on horses?" she asked. Legolas fought the urge to smile. Everything she did was making him laugh. She was honestly worried about getting on a horse.

"Or a walk, if you prefer," he said. "But there is nothing frightening about horses, believe me." She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment and sighed.

"A ride then. On small horses." she agreed.

"The smallest," he promised. He gave a courteous little bow to Melody. "Lady Melody, would you like to accompany us?" he asked politely. She was looking with a strange little smile on her face, something between I'm-going-to-laugh and I-know-what-you're-up-to-buster. She shook her head.

"Nah, I'm watching Michael spar with Aragorn. Have fun," she said, and waved. She watched the two of them leave with something like motherly exasperation. Madison was obviously a 'Leggy-fangirl', but they seemed to be good friends. She hoped it would stay that way.

Her attention was drawn to Aragorn and Michael at the end of the field. They chose a good distance away from the sparring ellyn, and began exchanging blows carefully. From this distance, Melody couldn't hear what they were saying, but Aragorn kept correcting Michael's stance. Their swords lay on the ground, unused for the moment, and they were concentrating on hand-to-hand combat. Michael's fighting style was a typical barroom brawl - knock your opponent to the ground and keep hitting his face until he hollered uncle. Aragorn, naturally, was a firm, upright, stand-your-ground-until-the-end kind of guy. It made an interesting fight to watch, but Melody felt her attention drifting. She wondered what was going to happen to Gandalf. Now that he was alive, how would it affect the story? Obviously, he couldn't exorcise Theoden, couldn't break Saruman's staff, or fight the Witch-King when he was plain old Gandalf the Gray. She sighed and watched Michael and Aragorn fight with detached interest. And then there were the Sues. Why did they seem to be weakening one second, and then getting insanely powerful the next? It was mind-boggling, that's what it was. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and flipped her bangs from her eyes, spotting Daphne sitting on a bench some ways away. Getting up, she approached the blond, who seemed to be half-asleep. "Daphne?" Melody called hesitantly. The spiky-haired blond twitched, as if waking up suddenly, and then stretched and rubbed her eyes.

"Oh, hi," Daphne said, yawning loudly. "'Ow you doin'?" she asked sleepily, propping her chin in her hands and half-closing her eyes. Melody sat down next to her.

"Fine," Melody said. "Maddie and Legolas went on a ride together." she said. Daphne either didn't care or it didn't register, because she nodded sleepily and said "That's nice." Melody waited a few seconds. "So, how is Isabella doing?" she asked.

"She's awake," Daphne said. "And now I can't sleep. I'm such a worrywart." She dug her knuckles into her eyes, sighing. "I keep worrying about Gandalf and all that stuff."

"I was just thinking that," Melody admitted. "I don't know how it'll affect the story. Do you?"

Daphne buried her face in her arms. "Right now, I want to sleep," she said, her voice muffled. "And then I'll think. Wake me up in a century."

Melody suppressed a sigh. There was nobody to talk to. She was going for a walk.

* * *

><p>The sun was weak and watery, and it peered down dreamily on the gleaming bodies as they sparred viciously. Aragorn had removed his tunic, and Michael felt a brief pang of envy at the hard, rippling muscles. He had cool gray eyes that evaluated Michael carefully, and then gave a tiny jerk of his head as though to say 'you'll do'. Aragorn knelt and deftly plucked his boot knife from his calf and flipped it around until he was holding the blade and presented it to Micahel hilt first. Aragorn watched as Michael turned it until the blade was pointing towards him, and then his lips tightened. "Stop, stop, stop," Aragorn snapped. "What are you doing?"<p>

"Knife fightin'," Michael retorted. "It's the way I learned. You don't grow up in New York City or the Bronx unless you know how to knife fight. You don't grow up long, anyway." Aragorn raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly. Michael, irked that Aragorn didn't approve of his fighting techniques, furrowed his brow and turned away. He yelped in pain when the flat of Aragorn's blade connected with his arm. "Ouch! Damn, man, what the hell was that for?" Michael asked, rubbing his shoulder. Aragorn was glaring at him.

"Fight me. Go on, use your blade." He was using his sword, which had him at a distinct advantage, and he was about an inch taller and a good twenty pounds heavier. Michael growled and jabbed out with his knife, twisting his wrist at what looked like an uncomfortable angle. The blade was fast and sharp, lightweight and easy to use, although to Michael it was rather heavy to be used as a proper switchblade. Aragorn's trained eyes watched him closely as they traded blows, Michael attacking underhanded and never even getting close to Aragorn. Aragorn, of course, was using a sword that he was familiar with and his attacks were hard and strong, although he slowed himself deliberately to keep the boy with him. His footwork was alien, pouncing light as a cat one moment and then landing hard on his heels the next. Mostly, though, he kept himself close to Aragorn, brows knotted in fierce concentration, sweat beading his brow.

They were polar opposites in fighting - Aragorn was powerful and heavy, deflecting blows easily and occasionally smacking him with the flat of his blade, while Michael was fast and light, never nicking Aragorn once. However, fighting an eighty-year-old man does have one advantage - youth. The blades shrieked together, and Michael felt reverberations shudder up his arms. Using a smaller blade was putting him at both an advantage and a disenvantage - the closer he got, the less room Aragorn had to maneuver. Therefore, they kept going backwards across the field, sometimes ducking to turn a different direction and proceed up the field at another angle. But the less control Aragorn had over his blade, the less time he had to twist his blows and make sure the flat struck Michael instead of the edge. By the second close call - Michael actually felt the hairs on his arm stand up, and a pink welt sprang to attention on his shoulder - Aragorn stopped. "Enough," he said.

Michael doubled over and gripped his knees. Aragorn looked at him coolly. "You wouldn't last five minutes in battle," Aragorn informed him as though he were telling him about the weather. "You lack endurance and discipline. Your stance is terrible - that's why you couldn't touch me. You need more weight behind your blows, otherwise your blade will connect with mine and your arms will deaden. You are inexperienced and slow, but..." For the first time, the shadow of a grin skated across Aragorn's scruffy mouth. "You fight well."

He scrubbed a hand across his dark eyes and glared at Aragorn. "Yeah, no kiddin'," he panted. "So, how do I - get better?" he asked, gulping down air. Aragorn's smile was dangerously similar to Daphne's wolverine grin.

"Practice. That's how." He strode over to the weapons rack and hefted a sword. "Let's try your hand with a proper blade, shall we?"

Michael groaned.

* * *

><p>Isabella drank the water greedily, licking her parched lips. She sat up in bed, touching a hand to the swath of bandages around her skull. The wound had bled quite a bit, as head-wounds were apt to do, and her ears still rang from the connection with the cave wall. Her vision was blurred slightly around the edges, and it hurt to focus on anything specifically, but she found she could talk without too much trouble and sneer with even less. Supported by several thick cushions, she watched through the window idly. From this distance, she could see two horses coming up the path - one of them bay colored, the other a light brown. Madison was clinging to the bay one with a terrified-giggly look on her face, and Legolas was laughing at her from atop the light brown. They were talking about something animatedly, with most of the discussion coming from Legolas and most of the animation coming from Madison, who was hunched in the saddle as though she wanted nothing more than fling her arms around the horse's neck and hang on for dear life. Isabella smirked as the two friends walked slowly up the path, their horse's tails swishing slowly in the nippy breeze. Madison's cheeks were flushed with humor and the cold wind, and Legolas's eyes were bright with merriment. Isabella rubbed her eyes and her fingers played over the slick, cold glass of the window. Directly outside, an old gray mallorn tree rapped gnarled fingers against the house she was staying in, and contributed an eerie scuttling noise to the colorful sounds outside her window.<p>

Something caught her eye. Adavis was walking quickly down the road with a determined expression on her face, Quilemna and Vanima close behind. They were all dressed in fine clothes, with Quilemna stubbornly insisting to wear masculine clothing and Vanima wearing a beautiful crimson dress. Adavis would look superb in anything she wore, but the golden gown she was wearing was stunning and apparently kept her warm from the chilly breeze, even though it revealed far more than it covered. Vanima posed a question, and Adavis turned on her, shouting and throwing her arms up in the air. From this distance, Isabella couldn't tell what Vanima or Adavis said, but they were obviously up to something. Her mind went through a list of possible options, and settled on the least likely to work and the one with the highest possibility of bodily harm. After all, what's the fun in taking the safe route? _Listen to yourself, idiot!_ Isabella chided herself mentally as she got out of bed and her numb fingers groped for a cloak. _Call yourself a genius - pah! You sound like Daphne. You don't want to turn out like her, do you? _

It didn't take much to sneak outside and follow the Sues down the road. Naturally, they attracted all kinds of attention because of their flawless beauty and auras, so Isabella had to pick her way among the ruins of overturned carts. Apparently several carts and horsemen had tried to turn around on a dime to appreciate the round backsides of the Sues and everything had toppled over. They all had vaguely bewildered looks on their faces as they chased fruits which were rolling away and tried to scoop up flour with their fingers. Isabella would have sneered or said something snarky, but her head was pounding and her feet - which were bare - were absolutely freezing. The cloak was much too large for her and made her look ridiculous, but she didn't particularly care. Her plan was to follow them at a distance for a while, and then accuse them of - well, whatever they were doing. Somethign heinous, no doubt. Unfortunately for the brain-fuzzed geunii, the Sues - among other attributes - had perfect hearing and turned around to confront her. "Isabella? What are you doing outside on such a cold day?" Adavis asked, mock sympathy in her voice.

"Following you," Isabella retorted. "No doubt you're up to something." It was a partiularly lame reason for following somebody, and she tried to stifle a cough that was tickling the back of her throat. It didn't work, and she coughed into her fist, feeling her sore throat being ravaged by the gusty cough. The Sues smirked and enclosed her in a circle, pressing unnaturally close to her. Isabella frowned and jammed an elbow into Quilemna's side. "Breathing room, imbecile," Isabella snapped, trying to sound like her usual self, when in fact she just felt like curling up and dying.

"Adavis..." Quilemna said warningly. "Now would be an excellent time to put out our plan."

Adavis arched a queenly eyebrow. "_Our _plan?"

"Yours, of course," Vanima said hastily, glaring at Quilemna. "She meant _your_ brilliant plan, Excellency." Adavis purred.

There was something funny going on, but Isabella couldn't quite put her finger on it. Adavis twisted her mouth to the side as she suryeved Isabella. "No, she won't do," she said decisively. "I want the other one, that little thief - Melody. Her and that nasty little girl, Madison. I want them both." She curled her lip. "Run along, little one, before you catch a cold," Adavis said sweetly, false concern dripping from her words.

Isabella ground her teeth. "I'm not a child," she said. "And I refuse to be treated as such. What are you planning with Melody and Madison?"

"Nothing you need to worry your little head about," Adavis said prettily. "We're planning a - surprise for them. Now don't spoil it for them, all right?" She patted Isabella's head lightly.

If there was one thing Isabella hated the most, it was being underestimated. But then again, underestimation had proved to be her ace in the hole on numerous occasions. People looked at her and saw a skinny, black-haired girl with a sour face and large, sneering blue eyes. They didn't see a Grand Chess Master - they didn't see a developing girl. They saw her as a child. So Isabella lowered her eyes and sighed. "Just don't hurt them," Isabella said, feigning defeat. "Besides, Melody would be able to kick your butt."

She knew Adavis was burning, but the Sue hid it well - a tribute to her Suethor. "Oh, really?" Adavis said, her beautiful voice squeaking ever so slightly. "What makes you think that?"

"Because she said so," Isabella said irritably. "A couple of days ago, in Moria. We were talking about you and she said she could kick your butt any day of the week and not even break a sweat."

"Is that so?" Adavis said. Now there was definitely a crack and a squeak in her voice. There was a vein pulsing in her temple. "Well, I'll have to speak with her about that."

Isabella turned and began trudging towards the palace, bare feet scraping over the cold grounds. Quilemna's hand strung her bow and notched an arrow before anyone could blink. "I can still get her from here," the redheaded Sue panted, aiming for Isabella's back. Adavis was watching Isabella's back closely, and she put a restraining hand on Quilemna's arm.

"No, don't," Adavis said quietly. "I want her alive. I think she'll do...rather well."

* * *

><p>Michael lay on the grass, eyes closed. His body was drenched in sweat, hair standing in damp spikes, and his heart was hammering. Aragorn sat next to him, one leg outstretched, the other close to his chest. He rested his elbow on his knee, mug of water in hand, and looked at the boy with a little smile on his face. "Tired?" he inquired pleasantly. Michael opened one chocolate-brown eye and glared at Aragorn. He didn't even have the energy to swat the Ranger. Instead, he settled for an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, something like "Mmmmepmmh." Aragorn laughed. "It's only your first day of training," Aragorn reassured him. "You'll get better...eventually."<p>

"Yeah, thanks for the confidence, man," Michael said, sitting up with a groan. "Man, I hurt in places I didn't even know I _had_." He tried for a scratchy laugh. "It's like having sex, I guess." Aragorn shot him a sharp, keen look that unsettled Michael.

"You have lain with a woman before?" Aragorn asked, sounding idle but interested. After all, Michael was an adult, and what else do adult males talk about? Nonetheless, Aragorn was subtly uncomfortable with the conversation. Michael didn't appear fazed.

"Nope. Well - no, wait, no." Michael said. His lightning grin flickered up the side of his mouth. "What about you?"

Aragorn looked at him incredulously. "I cannot believe you just asked me that," he said after a moment.

"Well, I did." Michael said, sitting up on his elbows. He looked at Aragorn. "So? You and Arwen ever get it on? Mmm?"

Aragorn sent Michael sprawling in the grass. Michael was strong, but Aragorn was tougher - plus, Aragorn wasn't completely exhausted. He pinned Michael to the ground - there was a spark of amusement in his normally flat gray eyes, but his mouth was serious. "I am going to pretend," Aragorn said firmly, amusement building in his eyes, "that you and I did not have this conversation. And I am also going to pretend that you did not just question my betrothed's honor."

Michael was grinning openly now, wriggling slightly under Aragorn's grip. "What about before Arwen?" he asked cheekily.

Aragorn hauled Michael to his feet. "Where I come from," Aragorn said conversationally, dragging a struggling, laughing Michael towards the pail of water the warriors drank from, "Young boys who gave cheek were paddled. Since I do not see a stick lying handy I will have to improvise."

And, without further ado, he plunged Michael's head under the water.

He came up a split second later, spluttering and roaring his hilarious indignation. Laughing ellyn gathered round to see Michael pouring the remaining water on Aragorn, the two of them wrestling playfully, dripping wet and shouting incoherent insults. The ellyn were laughing but serious.

"We drink from that," one ellon said. "There is no need to waste it."

His answer was a faceful of water. Before too long, everyone was cheering or wrestling, slippery with sweat and water and good humor. After all, they were men - or ellyn - and their honor was at stake. Or something. Eventually it dissolved into good, healthy fun between a bunch of testosterone heady males. Suddenly, there was a break in the match by a clear, amused voice breaking over the crisp air.

"I see that your training has made you all very adept at spontanious wrestling matches," said a sweet, beautiful, lilting voice. The ellyn scrambled to their feet, along with Aragorn and Michael, and stood stiffly at attention. Galadriel was there, her crystal blue eyes large and soft. "Lord Michael, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Michael, dumbfounded, allowed himself to be led away by the gorgeous elleth. "Look, that was my fault back there," he began, but Galadriel cut him off.

"I did not call you here to reprimand you, Lord Michael, only to warn you." she said, and looked straight at him. "The thing your fear most will come to pass. Lord Sauron is treacherous, vile, and cunning. He will use your deepest secrets against you."

Michael felt his gut roil unpleasantly. He couldn't say a word. Galadriel continued. "Secrets destroy the soul. They gnaw away at your heart until you no longer can think or feel. Secrets rift relationships, dig chasms, and open gaps between friends. Secrets that are told will be secrets no longer."

"I can't tell," Michael said, his voice hoarse and raspy. "I - they'll think I'm a murderer." He swallowed hard and tried to keep the tears back. "I _am _a muderer."

Galadriel tipped his chin back gently, her blue eyes sorrowful. "Her death is not on your hands."

"Yes, damn it, it is," Michael said, pulling away from Galadriel with a sharp jerk. Tears stung his eyes and it felt as though he had swallowed a stone. "It is my fault. You weren't there. She could have been alive except for me, okay? I - I'm not telling anybody." He stormed off.

Galadriel watched him go, sadly wondering why he insisted on bearing his burdens alone.


	20. What Are They Planning?

**A/N: Short chapter, I'm afraid, but then next on will be long, I promise! If I combined them, it would be freakishly long, and this conversation between Zei and Shonji is important.**

**IMPORTANT: Please review. I'm feeling very uninspired, and it would feed the muse wonderfully for "Well Behaved Women". 8D**

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><p>He lay in the dirt, belly scraping the mossy ground, glittering eyes fixated on the gathering of people who were beginning to clamber into the boats. His fur shone in the dull winter sunlight, thick black bristles stretched over a heavy, muscle-bound frame. Restlessly his paws stirred in the dirt, haunches tensing as his wide, pointed ears swiveled. He heard his companion approaching, and he wanted to look alert. He sat up, licking a bit of dust from his foreleg, rippling his coat as he shook, those lazy yellow eyes half closed and fringed with dark, thick lashes. Like his companion, he wore no halter or bridle, instead allowing his Charge to show off and ride him bareback. His lazy, contented gaze settled on a patch of bushes near the waters edge, and his muscles tightened fractionally. It was a game they played – don't allow the other to sneak up on you. He waited for a tense moment, and then Shonji prowled out of the bushes, deep purple fur slashed brightly with daring blocks of black stripes. A stripe of creamy white ran from his chin to his tail, skirting along his underbelly, and his tail was ringed with black. His dark liquid eyes evaluated his friend calmly, and he padded over, massive paws making little or no markings on the soft bank mud. The two of them touched noses, identical in size and weight – but while Shonji had his muscle stacked against his shoulders and back, Zei's bulk was hidden behind his long, graceful legs and tufted tail. Naturally, as a canine, Zei had a longer muzzle and a slightly less intimidating look, but those golden eyes were deceptively calm and serene, staying that way even if he was chewing on your legs. For a moment, they circled each other, tails flicking against noses, and then Shonji sat down, signaling Zei to do so as well.<p>

_You caught up with us,_ Shonji commented, black eyes boring into his friend's own golden ones. _It took you long enough._

_The wizard is still alive,_ Zei said bluntly, ignoring Shonji's put-down. _You said you would leave this Story intact. _

_I said I would try,_ Shonji said indifferently, licking his paw and swiping it across his whiskers like all cats do. _I made no promises. The Authors will fix it. _

_The Bookkeeper will take them to the Manuscript,_ Zei said. _Our Charges are going to stop them. There will be a fight. _

_Not if I can help it,_ Shonji said disgustedly. _Sues – they are supposed to be divine goddesses of wisdom, and yet none of them have a speck of sense. I would pay dearly to see a Sue who actually knows what do to while in a Story. _

_What is their plan? Kidnapping? _Zei asked. _It seems foolish. _

_It is. They are allowing their petty revenge plan to get in the way of the ultimate goal._ Shonji snapped, whiskers going flat against his face. _I'll keep my Charge on track – just be sure yours doesn't get out of hand. _

_She's an idiot,_ Zei growled, _and a terrible Sue at that. They put no effort into her at all._

_Relax, wolf, _Shonji said. _If all goes well, we'll get them all to Isengard and then they'll fix your Charge._

_He'll stop you,_ Zei warned. _He's a powerful Bookkeeper. One of the best I've seen._

_He is,_ Shonji conceded, _but leave him to me. _

* * *

><p>Michael dug his paddle deeply into the water, pushing against the deep curve of his paddle, sending swirling eddies into the current. Melody pulled her hood up higher, burying her nose into the thick cloak. Galadriel had given them all beautiful new cloaks – just in time for chilly weather, Melody decided, and shivered. Daphne didn't seem to be affected by the cold, and was poring over her book, scratching her nose with her quill and leaving a smear of ink. All of the Authors had been given fresh books by Celeborn, along with new quills, and Madison had nearly shut down there and then when Celeborn smiled at her. Daphne, who had promptly thrown her into a boat with Legolas, Isabella, and Gimli, decided that Madison liked elves just a little too much. But the books would come in handy – after all, their old books were filling up fast, and they weren't even halfway finished. Daphne had asked Tolkien when they would start seeing the Sues weaken a little, and he hadn't answered. He had been very moody and quiet every since coming out of Moria – evidently, the Authors weren't the only ones worried about the arrival of Gandalf. So Daphne was trying to write – with limited success - while Michael paddled, her quill scratching against the snowy expanse of paper. One good thing had come out of all this – her handwriting was getting much better. Once an untidy scrawl, now a moderately readable cursive, and Daphne was proud of herself. Her mother's military neat printing and her father's Catholic-taught cursive had always far outstripped her own rather pathetic scrawl. However, a very unexpected mumble from Melody interrupted her.<p>

"We're not going to win," Melody informed her, blinking owlishly from behind her hood. Daphne's brows drew together.

"What?" Daphne asked.

"We're going to lose. Think about every Sue story you've ever read. The Sues always win." Melody said.

"God, you sound morbid," Daphne snapped. "Can't you be cheerful for once?"

"Boromir's going to die," Melody said, sounding rather like Dr. Phil. "How do you feel about that?"

_I feel like I'm going to throw up, _Daphne wanted to say. And it was true. All month she had been worrying about it, thinking of possible ways to save him. But she couldn't sacrifice the story. That's why she was here – to protect the story. She couldn't allow a little fuzzy feeling to get in the way. But instead of explaining all this to Melody, Daphne didn't answer. Because she was afraid any answer she gave would sound guilty. She didn't want to sound guilty – she didn't want to sound like she had totally misjudged him. She didn't want to open her mouth and exclaim that she thought he was a great guy, a guy who didn't deserve to die. More than that, she didn't want to cry. So instead she want back to her furious scribbling's, unaware that her silence sounded guiltier than her words.

Madison stroked the cover of her red leather book, small fingers tracing the grooves and patterns on the cover. Celeborn had given them all a book with different colored bindings – for Isabella, dark blue, for Michael, a soft green. Daphne was given a rich purple color, and Melody had her buttery yellow book tucked into her backpack. The five of them were also outfitted with new quills and inkwells, and Madison noticed each of them had a different design on them. She shrugged and hugged herself, shivering a little, taking in the scenery. The river was fast and cold, twisting silver melting into foamy white as it rushed away from moss-covered boulders. The banks were hemmed with low-hanging tree boughs, willowy fingers trailing in the water, limbs bobbing slightly from the speedy current. Above them, the sky was a hard, bright cerulean, somehow making everything seem colder, a broad, uncaring expanse that seemed glassy and somehow liable to shatter. Everything seemed too close, like the clouds were within touching distance and the silence was wrapping itself around them. Madison debated about pulling her hood up to warm her ears, but her already-frizzy hair was bound to get frizzier. She pushed her glasses farther up her nose and tucked her small fingers beneath her arms. Legolas noticed this and arched an eyebrow. "Are you going for a swim, Madison?" he asked in a mock-caring voice. He had taken to calling her Madison at her insistence, dropping the 'Lady' from her name. Maddie made a face.

"Are you kidding? It's frigid out!" she said, teeth chattering. "And the water is bound to be colder."

"On the contrary," Isabella said, speaking up for the first time since she had woken up that morning, "the water will be warmer than the air. You don't have a chill factor underwater, because you'd be moving. Sitting still actually doesn't make you warmer." she said smugly. "And I would be moving, except I fear I would tip the boat."

"If you tip this boat," Madison warned, "I'll never forgive you, I swear I won't."

"Now, now, ladies," Legolas soothed, albeit with a smile on his face. "Let's have peace between the races, shall we?" He glanced at Gimli, who had used almost those exact words when he asked for a strand of hair from Galadriel's head. The bushy-bearded dwarf scowled.

"Are you makin' fun o' me?" Gimli demanded, ignoring the stifled chuckles from Legolas and Madison. Isabella looked completely unfathomable.

"Not at all," Legolas assured him. He shared a glance with Madison, and the frizzy-haired nerd burst out,

"But where is it? The hair, I mean." She clarified. Gimli shook a fist at her.

"None of your business, liddle whelp," he growled, subsiding. Legolas kept a perfectly straight face as he pulled his paddle through the water.

"Why, Madison, everyone knows where he keeps them. Inside his armor, close to his heart." Legolas said, and Madison burst out laughing. Gimli got to his feet – as it was, he was so short it didn't make much difference, but his face was writ all over with ill-concealed humor.

"Why, insolent elf! I'd expect no better from a little Princeling." he said mockingly. Legolas paused his rowing and clasped a hand to his heart.

"Ah, Master Dwarf, you've wounded me deeply," Legolas said with a bright laugh, and resumed his duties. "You know I mean naught but fun."

"Pah! Elves don't know how to jest. Now, dwarves, we know how to have a celebration. Beer flowin' from every tap –"

"Urgh, dwarfish beer, must taste awful!" Legolas interrupted, a grin flicking the corner of his mouth. Gimli continued as though there hadn't been any interruption.

"Music weavin' through the dancers –"

"Can dwarves actually play music? I suppose they must beat on drums or bang rocks, don't you think, Madison?" Legolas asked with a widening grin. Gimli cleared his throat and tried to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

"Ahem! As I was sayin'! Beautiful women bringing dripping shanks of meat – "

"And the meat looks more appealing, I'm sure. At least the beef has no beard. Careful! Careful! Temper, Master Dwarf, you'll upset the boat!"

Madison held her sides and laughed until she cried.

None of them noticed the huge black wolf stalking them along the banks.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Anyone want to guess what the Manuscript is? :D**


	21. Endings

**WARNING: WARNING: WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH! BOOK ENDING!**

**The title and summary for Book Two will be at the end of the chapter!**

****

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><p>They could taste the tension in the air.<p>

It was as tangible as the mossy water trickling slowly down the trees, the rain whispering against the ground with a gentle hush. The skies had begun to weep shortly after they had pulled into a small shoal for the night, to rest and hide the boats. The remainder of the journey would be continued on foot, and Isabella was glad of that. The constant rocking back and forth had given her a queasy stomach, and the ground felt as though it were buckling under her feet. With a little groan, she sank to the ground and tucked her legs underneath her, gathering her cloak about her and fastening it tightly. The gray sky dripped liquid down to the earth, the silvery river dipping gracefully to allow each drop to enter the swift flowing stream. Aragorn and Legolas were making a fire, shielding it with cloaks and Boromir's massive shield. Daphne was huddling close to Madison, the two of them buried in thick cloaks and warming their hands up by breathing on them and playing "Concentration 64". Michael had gone off to get firewood, and Melody was by the riverbanks, reading a passage out of her leather-bound book. Gandalf and Tolkien were discussing something in a low, rapid whisper, with frequent glances around, and they both seemed to be on edge. Shonji, gloriously wet and beads of moisture clinging to each of his whiskers, came striding into camp, purring like a locomotive. He had that smug, self-satisfied grin that only cats can obtain, and he locked eyes with Isabella for a moment. Then he went off, slinking into the bushes after his mistress. The Sues had been notably absent from the conversations – instead of flipping their hair and bemoaning the fate of their wet dresses, they were talking in low voices, their Sue Auras at an all-time low. Nobody was paying them any attention.

The silence was broken by a curious, small, Hobbit voice. "Where's Frodo?" Pippin asked curiously, his large eyes half-closed and slightly anxious. Aragorn shot to his feet, slate-gray eyes looking immediately towards the place where Boromir had been sitting. His cloak and dagger were there, but nothing else. Aragorn swore several times, both in Common and in Elvish, and then took off into the forest, shouting for Boromir. Isabella squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She knew what was coming, and she didn't want it to happen. Daphne appeared to be crying, and Madison's lower lip was trembling. Legolas strung his bow and darted into the woods after Aragorn, and Gimli was hefting his axe. Gandalf and Tolkien shared a meaningful glance. Melody got to her feet and tucked her book into the bag slung over her shoulder, her honey-brown eyes very calm. Daphne and Madison also got up, and they went over to Isabella, who joined them readily. The four girls huddled close together, sharing a little time together before the Fellowship broke. They heard Michael snapping twigs in an effort to get over to them, and he looked just as deadly pale as they were.

Their moment was shattered by the grunt of a Uruk, fairly close, and Gandalf leapt into action. Gimli met the first one with the keen edge of his axe, swinging it with a modicum of effort and driving it into the belly of the Uruk. Gandalf's staff glowed brightly, and the blue crystal hummed vibrantly – a bolt of electricity shot out of the staff and sizzled into the next Uruk. As the Authors looked up, all of the girls screamed at once. There is nothing quite like seeing a Uruk up close, because not even in your wildest imagination could you conjure up such a beastly foe. They are huge, as tall as a fully grown man, with greasy yellow hair stretched damply over their blackened skin. Their faces are more like snouts, with ugly yellow-and-orange teeth gleaming with saliva as they roared brutish war cries, all of their fangs crowded together and hanging out of their purplish lips. Horrible orange eyes glowed in their sockets, grinning fiendishly as the surge of battle savaged their systems, rusty cutlasses and pikes clenched in their hands. Chain-mail armor hung over their heavy frames, and they sped forward, unmindful of the heavy weight. This particular Uruk had tattoos snaking up his arms and back, and white paint had been smeared across his forehead and cheeks. The girls shrieked as loud as only terrified women can shriek, and if it wasn't for Michael, all of them would have become Uruk soup within a matter of minutes. The Hispanic man bowled them out of the way, shoving them to the left and actually smacking Isabella on the lower back to get her moving. Madison appeared to be in a state of shock, and the Uruk made a grab for her – not with this sword, but with his hand, as though to snatch her and drag her away somewhere. Michael booted Madison from behind, causing her to shoot forward into the arms of Gandalf and taking her away from the Uruk.

Michael grabbed Boromir's dagger, the one he had left behind, and drove it with all the force he could muster into the Uruk's wrist. The beast howled with rage and swiped at Michael, knocking the air from his lungs with the flat of his blade, and sending him sprawling. A crackling bolt from Gandalf's staff sent the Uruk to the ground, never to rise, but there were more pouring into the clearing from all sides. Daphne snapped into action, her parent's military training bubbling to her mind. "Melody, Madison, get over there!" She shouted. "Michael, stop it, come with me! Isabella!" Daphne jerked the young girl to her feet and they took off into the woods. Michael was slower to leave – he seemed intent on stabbing each and every Uruk that came into the clearing. He heard Daphne's scream, and he turned, running over into the woods. Gandalf and Gimli were finishing off the Uruks, and Gimli was roaring down the path, shouting war cries. Gandalf paused, breathing hard, and looked at the Authors. Daphne was checking for wounds, and, finding none, looked at Gandalf. "Where's Tolkien?" she shouted.

Gandalf just looked at her. "He left," Daphne said, and then swore. "I'm going after him," she said. There was an instant chorus.

"No! You can't!

"It's stupid, let him be, he can take care of himself!"

"You'll kill yourself!"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm going after him," Daphne said, slamming her book into her pack and cramming a few loaves of _lembas _bread as well. "He's the Bookkeeper, and he needs an Author to go with him." She looked at them, and then hugged Madison fiercely. "Stay safe," she breathed in her ear. "Please. For me." Madison looked at her tearfully, dark blue eyes brimming with water. Daphne pressed a kiss into the crown of Isabella's head, a motherly notion that she did automatically. She squeezed Melody once, shaking her by her shoulders. "Don't steal anything you can't replace," she told her. She looked at Michael, and the man saw the spiky-haired blonde was crying. "Say – Say goodbye to him for me." She whispered. Michael knew who she meant.

"Don't, Daffy," he pleaded. She shook her head and backed up.

She took off at a full tilt in the direction Tolkien had taken, downstream, following the man she admired.

* * *

><p>Melody and Madison followed Isabella and Michael through the woods, Michael running faster than anyone would have believed possible. They heard the sounds of battle getting louder and closer, the clashes of metal scraping metal, soft cries that were rapidly getting louder. They burst through the woods, onto the path, passing slaughtered bodies of Uruks, the dreary wet rain making everything slippery. The banks of the river were awash with blood, and they could hear the terrified shouts of the Hobbits as they cried for help. Michael came through the clearing first, dagger aloft, and began attacking the nearest Uruk. Melody didn't waste any time – she grabbed a rock, ripping it free from its mossy tethers, and began cudgeling the Uruks with the craggy rock. Boromir was amazing – his sword flashed wetly in the rain, seemingly everywhere at once, carving patterns in the air, slicing the heads off Uruks and driving through the armor of another in the same movement. Merry and Pippin were back to back, close to Boromir, and the Gondorian steward was doing his best to keep them protected. Michael closed his eyes when he heard the piercing whistle of an arrow striking through the air.<p>

It connected with Boromir's chest, and the steward went white. He buckled, his jaw going slack, his blonde hair swinging in his face, and then he jerked himself upright, driving his sword into another Uruk. Michael changed directions, tears of fury blinding his eyes, and began charging the bowman. The white-painted Uruk sent another arrow into Boromir's stomach, and the steward fell to his knees, ashen cheeks colored by a stripe of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Michael screamed – actually screamed, an animal roar of pain and frustration as he tackled the bowman, knife in hand, just in time to feel the shuddering energy of the third arrow ripple through his body. It hit Boromir full on, and the steward was once more driven to his knees.

He got up.

Michael brought the dagger down hard.

He struck for Boromir!

He struck for the missing Tolkien!

He struck for the Authors!

He struck for the story he was going to save!

He struck for the Fellowship which was fighting with all its might!

He struck until his arm grew numb and the Uruk before him lay in a puddle of its own blood!

He wasn't even aware of Legolas dragging him from the Uruk, didn't know that his friends were running blindly through the scrub and trees, pursued by a purple tiger and a black wolf. The elf bade him to be still, and the forest grew quiet, the only noises coming from a dying Boromir. Michael skidded over to the steward's side, watching the older man give one last, guttural breath, saying a name so faintly it sounded like a sigh, one word which wore his love and passion for a woman who had never seen it – one word which told Michael everything, one name which told him exactly how deep his love had been for a woman who had been terrified of love itself:

_"Daphne..."_

* * *

><p>Melody felt the paws slamming her hard into the dirt, tasted the filthy, gritty taste of mud in her mouth, accented with a coppery tang of her own blood. A hand – a perfect hand – darted out and captured a fistful of Melody's long blonde hair, jerking her upwards. "Not so pretty now, hmm?" Adavis sneered, ordering Shonji mentally to keep Melody pinned there. "Can't write when you're stuck, can you?" Adavis said, and brushed an ebony lock away from her perfect, heart-shaped face. By craning her neck at an uncomfortable angle, Melody saw Madison attempting to scramble up a tree, sobs of terror tearing from her throat. Circling the tree, licking its lips, was a huge black wolf with lazy yellow eyes. Vanima was perched on his back, crooning something in his ear, and Melody closed her eyes when she saw the wolf pounce. There was a long, dreadful shriek from Madison as she was forcibly torn down from the tree by her leg, the wolf's jaws clamped around her ankle, and she thudded hard on the ground. Shonji backed off of Melody, teeth closing around the nape of her neck – but gently, Melody noticed. His teeth didn't even leave marks as he hauled her upright, keeping her in place with his teeth. Adavis drew herself up like a queen and glared at Melody.<p>

_Smack!_

Adavis's hand came stinging across her cheek, leaving a red imprint on her face. Shonji dropped Melody and growled something, a hideous snarl that drummed from his chest. Melody wasn't about to waste time – she kicked herself upright and drove an elbow into Adavis's stomach. "You want a piece of me?" Melody taunted. "Huh? You're not so tough when you have your pet tiger to keep me still, are you?" She smirked. Adavis's face went red, then white, then back to red, as her anger battled with her system. "C'mon, sissy," Melody jeered. "C'mon – what are you, scared? You're a Mary Sue – you're not scared of anything."

"Quilemna, Vanima, bind them," Adavis said, her jaw locked. "Put the other one on Zei's back and go. I'll take care of this..._brat_."

"Look whose talking!" Melody said, honey-brown eyes narrowed.

"Are you calling me a brat?" Adavis gasped.

"Well, if the dress fits," Melody said, a smirk curving her mouth, "then I suggest you wear it."

They pounced at the same moment, hands fisting hair, nails digging into cheeks, knees driving into chests. They grappled on the ground, rolling and tussling, Melody getting her butt thoroughly kicked by the Sue. Then, before either of them understood what was going on, Shonji was between them, a paw slamming on each chest, separating them. _Enough!_ he roared. _I have had enough of your petty struggles! Get on my back before I lose my temper and crunch your faces off!_

"Shonji, let go!" Adavis said, wriggling.

_No! I am fed up with your bossy attitude. Both of you, on my back – bind the Author up, Adavis, and we will leave. If either of you disobeys me, I shall not hesitate to tear your throats out. I will take great pleasure in doing so. Am I perfectly clear?_

__

* * *

><p><p>

Tolkien heard her coming up behind him and paused, hooking his thumbs into his vest pockets. She broke through the bushes, her pack on her back, her blonde hair wild and mussed, silvery green eyes wide. "Tolkien!" she called out, and then ran over to him. He looked at her calmly, and she frowned. "Where are you going?"

"I have a Manuscript to find," Tolkien answered, and offered a little smile. "It is a task I must do alone, Daphne. I'm sorry."

She got a very obstinate look on her face, her mouth tightening and her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "No. I'm going with you."

"Daphne..."

"I'm serious! You're the Bookkeeper, and you're going to save the story. I'm going with you. We stick together. I'm committed to this, and now I'm going to see it through." Daphne said firmly. Tolkien looked at her for a long moment, then laughed bitterly.

"Stubborn young girl," he said with something akin to affection. "I was hoping you would stay with me. We have a lot of work to do."

"What's the Manuscript?" Daphne asked. Tolkien spared a hurried glance over his shoulder, towards the sounds of battle.

"I'll explain on the way. All I can say is this: If you're really serious about coming with me, love, you might risk your life. You might be written out of this story and you might suffer a great deal of pain on this quest. How much are you willing to sacrifice for this story?"

"Anything," Daphne said without hesitation. "Absolutely anything."

Tolkien didn't see a growing young woman – he saw the makings of an Authoress standing before him.

They began their quest, together. If they died, they would die for the story.

_~End Of Book One~_

* * *

><p><strong>COMING SOON!<strong>

_**The Two Suethors**_

**Daphne and Tolkien are on a suicidal mission to find the Manuscript while Melody and Madison are locked in Isengard. Meanwhile, Isabella and Michael are following the broken Fellowship to finish the story, and hopefully save the world.**


	22. Chapter 22: Book Two

Dear Faithful Readers:

I am officially back from Georgia (ugh: don't ask), and would like to inform you that this story is officially over. Kindly refer to my story "The Two Suethors" for the sequal. The book following The Two Suethors will be called "Return of the Authoress".

Thanks!

Lovingly,

Emma


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